Wanderlust
by cariaudry
Summary: The prospects of returning home to New York seem less and less likely for Jace and Clary now that Valentine has captured Idris. The hapless Lightwoods are waiting for any word, anxious to reunite with their friends. Harry and his friends must contend with the growing threat of Voldemort, who, all the while, continues to build his army and prepare for war.
1. Towers and Tedium

**Hey everyone, I'm back! I realize this took much longer than expected, but with graduation and summer almost here, I got a little caught up in work. However, I'm really excited to begin writing for fanfiction again. Again, thanks for reading!**

Towers and Tedium

"_The ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming."_

_-Kingsley Shacklebolt_

The wind whipped Clary's cloak around her legs and she drew it tighter around her shoulders as she peeked out the window in the owlery. Outside, the trees of the forbidden forest swayed under the inky black sky. A huge round moon hung in the sky, painting the school grounds silvery, and in the light of stars, Clary saw the threstals soaring in lazy loops above the grounds. She leaned farther out the window, breathing in the chilly breeze, and listening for any sound of Razz.

_Owls don't make noise when they fly, idiot, _Clary reminded herself, smiling bitterly. _He'll come when he does._

Knowing that didn't make it any easier for Clary to wait. She and Jace had been taking turns, staying up through the night and waiting for Razz to come with the letter from the Lightwoods. It was miserably cold, but how could they sit and do nothing? As if to push the chill away from her, Clary closed her eyes and tried to think of something warm…of the common room back in Gryffindor Tower with the great fire and the cushy arm chairs. There might be a quilt left there, something she could snuggle beneath and warm her toes.

_You definitely need to ask Hermione to make you one, _Clary thought, smiling faintly. Yes, Hermione could make her a blanket, or at least something roughly blanket in shape that Clary could wrap around herself.

The wind ripped through the tower again and Clary withdrew a little more. _Oh, this is pointless._ Clary reached into her pocket and removed a stele. After a brief reflection on Jace's rune lessons, Clary drew one on the inside of her wrist and felt heat blossom from her arms and up to her shoulders. With a wry smile, she then replaced her stele with her wand, pointed it at a small bowl in the windowsill and whispered a word. A green fire sprang up at once and Clary huddled even closer to it.

Feeling warmer, and a fair bit more content, Clary leaned against the arched window and peered closer at the sky. It was empty again, and she closed her eyes, willing the faint image of Razz to appear. Almost two weeks they'd been waiting, almost two weeks and no word from anyone.

The news that Valentine had captured Idris had been so much a blow that for a few days, Clary and Jace did little else but wait for word. When it became apparent that no letter was arriving, they tried to rejoin their classmates with some success. Clary dedicated herself more and more to her lessons and Jace participated more than ever in Quidditch, but it was hard to put their friends from their minds. Sensing their disquiet, Harry, Ron, and Hermione employed any number of techniques to draw them out of their melancholy. Harry and Ron took turns sneaking out with Jace to trail Malfoy, but Jace was bored with it. Hermione and the other girls of Gryffindor made a point of inviting Clary into their conversation, but it was always the same: exams, boys, and Voldemort.

And Voldemort was certainly on her mind. Harry had been spending more and more time with Dumbledore since the attack on Idris, the Order had increased the number of watches on the castle, and Clary knew she was being watched. The general agreement among the Order was that with the Clave disbanded, Voldemort would make quick work of them, and, by extension, Hogwart's resident shadowhunters.

_And we still don't know why he wants us,_ Clary thought bitterly. _We're trapped out here in the middle of nowhere, and we don't know what Voldemort wants with us. _

Lately, she and Jace had taken to discussing it, but aside from wanting them to somehow control her father, and now the Clave, they could think of few things Voldemort would want with them. Clary sighed: as much as she wanted to be afraid of Voldemort, just so she could take the threat more seriously, she couldn't bring herself to understand how a man who lived in the shadows, who had made no attempt to take over, who hadn't even attacked her in any way, could be a threat.

For now, she contented herself to focus on Valentine; he had certainly ruined her life enough for it. Clary stared at the small green fire meditatively, thinking about her friends back in New York, and how much more danger they were in now. She wondered, carelessly almost, if she might be able to contact them using the floo network Dumbeldore had mentioned.

_It's not safe yet, just like he said, _Clary thought dully. She and Jace had been asking Dumbledore once a week if he would contact Magnus Bane, but he had thus far refused, saying that, according to his contacts, Voldemort was still keeping an eye on the goings on at Hogwarts. Bitterly, Clary jabbed at the fire with her wand and it flared brilliantly, filling the entire owlery with green light.

"Was that for me?"

Clary spun around, wand raised in one hand, stele in the other. "Jace!"

"The one and only," he said, coming forward into the owlery. He was huddled in a cloak of his own, hugging it tightly against him. "By the Angel, it gets cold here. How the hell do the owls sleep here?"

Without a word, Clary held out her hand for Jace imperiously and he crossed the room and took it. She pulled him against her, tucking herself into his cloak. "Like, how do they _literally _sleep because if an owl just perches on its-"

"Ass!" Jace yelped, jumping back from the window as a feathery ball of fluff zoomed through the window. "Watch where you're going!" he cried after the owl as is alighted on a perch and peered down at him with a reprimanding gaze.

Clary giggled softly, pulling Jace closer to her again. "Temper, temper. Didn't Dumbledore say if you lost your temper again he'd forbid you from teaching our friends how to fight?"

"Dumbledore also told me that if I got detention again he'd have to send a letter to my parent or guardian." Jace smiled sharply. "Not exactly a threat."

"What did you get detention for this time?" Clary demanded, pulling back just a little.

"I don't know, something about flicking those buttons from Transfiguration at Malfoy's head. McGonagall wasn't too happy…" Jace considered the severe woman. "She could give Maryse a run for her money."

The thought of his step-mother, though, drew Jace up short, and he fell silent. It was easy in Hogwarts to forget thing sometimes, what with the constant stream of students, the magic, the Quidditch, and the constant reminder of Voldemort could easily push a few thoughts from someones's mind for a little bit. For Jace, the sudden silence and the seclusion was sufficient to remind him of the Lightwoods.

Clary sensed this. "No news yet, but Razz has to come back tonight. He's been gone so long…"

"He does have to cross and ocean," Jace admitted. "I think we'd know, though, if something had happened."

"What do you think they're doing right now," Clary wondered. "With Magnus?"

"I would imagine they're in hiding, waiting to hear from us."

"And now we're waiting to hear from them." Clary blew out through her nose. "What have you and the boys been doing?"

"Well, Ron is currently failing Potions and Harry is obsessed with Ron's sister." Jace considered his words. "And Malfoy. But since I'm also currently obsessed with Malfoy, I doubt Harry stands a chance of competing with me."

Clary laughed softly as another owl swooped through the window. This one landed on the perch nearest to them and hooted. Clary peered a little closer. "Pig."

"That's not nice," said Jace, pretending to be hurt.

"I meant _Pig_," said Clary, and pointed to the minute owl.

Jace blinked at the owl. "Probably just back from a trip to the Burrow. I guess the Order has been having dinner there. Discussing the recent news."

"How do you know that?" Clary wondered.

"Nathaniel and Maddy," said Jace absently. "I got an owl from them. They'd like me to update them as soon as I've got word from the Lightwoods."

"Are they coming back to visit soon?" Clary asked hopefully.

Jace shook his head. "Full moon is next week."

"How's he taking to it, do you know?" Clary was thinking of Luke now; he could change whenever he wanted.

"I think it helps that Remus is taking him out."

"Remus is the alpha," Clary said. "Isn't it good for wolves to have an alpha?"

"He can make better decisions when Remus is with him," Jace guessed. "It'll be over soon, don't worry, and then he'll bring Maddy to come visit. You can gush all over her."

"_Gush_?" Clary asked, making a face. "I don't gush."

Jace, looking scandalized, pointed to himself.

"I don't-"

"What's that?" Jace asked sharply, jerking toward the window. He wasn't looking at the skyline, though, but at the school grounds. "Someone is leaving the forest."

Clary followed Jace's gaze and saw a lone figure leaving the cover of the trees. They were tall, wearing a long, sweeping cloak that covered their face, and were walking swiftly toward the school. Clary frowned; students were under strict supervision now that Alicante had been attacked, and though she and Jace managed to sneak around the staff, no one else should have been able to.

"Should we follow them?" she wondered, not sure if leaving the owlery was the best idea. "Their heading for the school," she added a bit nervously.

"They are," Jace agreed. He glanced around at the owls, wondering if Razz was about to make his return. _He'll find you if you're not here, _Jace reminded himself. "Let me mark you and we can catch up."

Clary swept her cloak aside and displayed her arm to Jace to mark, and when he was finished, they two of them crept down the winding stairs from the owerly. Clary moved a pace ahead of Jace, ready to be gone from the cold, and they cleared the courtyard in less than a minute. As they turned a corner they spotted the lone figure, marching up the steps to the front doors. Clary stopped Jace before he walked around the corner into plain view.

"Who is that? They look familiar." Clary peered closer at the figure. They reached the door, waved their hand in a strange gesture, and the door glowed golden for a moment before lurching open.

Jace, pressing behind Clary, said, "More importantly, what were they doing in the forest at this time of night?"

The figure stepped into the castle and the doors shut heavily. "They must be professors at the school," Clary mused. "How else could they have opened the door?"

"Late night stroll?"

Clary frowned. "Checking the school gates?"

Jace leaned back against the wall, looking out toward the trees. "The gates aren't through the forest." He breathed out through his nose. "So, what were they doing?"

"You think Harry, Ron, and Hermione are up yet?" Clary wondered.

Jace smiled thinly. "They will be. Come on, let's pay them a visit." Jace turned looking quite pleased, heading back toward the courtyard.

"How?" Clary asked, running after Jace. "We're locked out of the castle. Which reminds me, how did you get here?"

"Oh, ye of little faith," Jace said over his shoulder. As they approached the owlery, Jace began rooting around the base of the building. After a moment, he produced his broomstick. "Fly right up to the windows."

"They charm the doors but not the windows?" Clary asked, smirking.

"Well, in their defense, the windows of Gryffindor tower are pretty high up. I couldn't even jump them if I wanted." Jace held the broom out so that Clary could see it in the moonlight. "Need a lift?"

"My mother always told me I should never run away with a boy on a bike, but she didn't say anything about a boy on a broom."

"Good thing too, because we're using that excuse when you introduce us for the first time," Jace said, and swung himself onto his broom; he held out his hand and helped Clary unsteadily onto the broom. She wrapped her arms around Jace's abdomen and rested her cheek on his back.

"I'll protect you," Clary murmured before Jace pushed off and the ground fell away.

Clary felt a rush of excitement and she wanted to shout out, but knowing her cries might alert one of the Advance Guard on duty, she held back. They cut a path through the moonlit night, sailing along at the same height as the threstals, and circled around the castle, looking for Gryffindor tower. Slowly, the spire came into view and Jace banked the broom.

"Whose window is it?" Clary murmured. "We can't go in through the girls' room; boys aren't allowed."

Jace glanced back at her. "Boy _aren't allowed_? Who's going to stop me?"

Clary merely smirked. "You've never been in my dorm for a reason. There are jinxes and charms to stop boys and kick them out. Apparently, the founders thought boys were untrustworthy."

"And do _you_ think I'm untrustworthy?" Jace asked, drawing closer to the windows.

"It's not up to me," said Clary primly. "Take it up with the school."

"Add it to the list of problems I have with this place, right after the stupid talking paintings and the janitor's cat," Jace muttered, and aimed the broom at a window. They were hovering alongside one of the windows, and inside, Jace and Clary could see sleeping figures.

"Let's wake the sleeping darlings, shall we?" Clary giggled.

Jace held the broom steady while Clary precariously clambered from broom to windowsill. She did her best not to look down, but a quick glimpse showed her the drop was quite far. With a deep breath, Clary cleared the distance and landed catlike on the floor of the boys' room. After a moment, she returned to the window to help Jace from his broom to the window and into the room.

Jace shucked the broom under the only empty bed and crossed over to where Harry was sleeping. He prodded the wizard boy; Harry mumbled something in his sleep. "Wake up," Jace growled.

"G'way, Ron," Harry mumbled, rolling over.

"I'm not Ron," Jace breathed.

"And we're not sugar plums either," Clary added, pinching Harry's arm.

"W-what?" Harry jerked awake, his hand shooting at once for both wand and glasses. "What do you want?"

"To put your hand in warm water and watch you pee yourself, but we woke you up completely by mistake, so now we're just making you get up out of spite," said Jace sarcastically. "We saw someone."

This seemed enough to rouse Harry, who managed to slam his glasses on his face and sit up. "_Saw _someone?"

"Yeah, wake Ron up, I'm getting Hermione," said Clary, and she vanished from the room.

Harry watched her go. "Like, a dangerous someone, or just a someone?"

"We're going to figure that out," said Jace, and pulled Harry from bed.

Five minutes later, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Clary, and Jace were huddled before the embers of the fire, wrapped in dressing gowns, with their heads bowed in discussion.

"They came from the forest?" Hermione asked around a yawn. "But there's nothing in there-"

"There's a bunch of beasts!" said Ron. "Giant spiders, centaurs, vampires and who knows what else."

"And why would that matter?" Clary asked. "If they live on Hogwarts land, their probably not a danger to the students, right?"

Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked between each other. "Well, the spiders did try to kill us," Harry said slowly.

"And the centaurs did attack Dolorous Umbride-not that _that's_ a bad thing," Ron mused.

"So, you think someone went in there to talk to them?" Clary pressed. "Who?"

"Could be Dumbledore," Jace supposed.

"He's been gone," said Harry, "unless he just got back tonight and had an urgent meeting in the forest." His tone didn't recommend the idea to anyone else. "Maybe it was Snape."

"Snape?" Hermione asked. "What business does he have?"

"Working for Voldemort," Harry said at once. "Dumbledore said that Voldemort wanted the magical creatures on his side. Maybe he's trying to win over Aragog."

"Aragog would never hurt Hagrid, and Hagrid is loyal to Dumbledore," said Hermione.

"Werewolves in the forest?" Jace asked, thinking of Nathaniel.

"I don't know how they'd get on the land after all the charms Dumbledore placed," Hermione said.

"Secret meeting then," Ron put in next. "I bet Malfoy was out there, meeting with someone."

"You're joking," Hermione laughed sharply. "Malfoy hates the forest as much as you do."

"It had to have been a professor," said Clary before Hermione and Ron argued. "Whoever they were, they knew the charm to open the front doors."

Harry looked ready to open his mouth and say Snape's name, but he caught Hermione's eye and said instead, "It could be one the Order. I bet Dumbledore gave them the charm to get in. Though what they might be doing out in the forest at this time, I haven't a clue."

"Who from the Order is here this weekend?" Hermione asked.

"I'm not sure," Harry said. "It's not Sirius. He would have told me he's coming."

"It's not Remus, either," Clary said quickly. "Nathaniel would have let us know."

"There's a lot of people in the Order," said Ron, glancing out the window toward the slowly lightening sky. "It could have been any of them and it's not like they're going to tell us."

"What would they be doing in the forest anyway?" Clary asked. "Aren't they supposed to be guarding the school grounds?"

"Yes," Harry agreed. "Maybe there's something dangerous in the forest they had to look in to?"

"Like Hagrid's brother?" Ron snickered.

"What were they doing then?" Jace asked into silence.

It was certainly a conundrum, and, as they sat around the fire and the sun slowly rose, they couldn't figure it out. In the distance, the sounds of their fellow waking Gryffindors echoed through the rooms, and they drew apart a little so as not to look secretive. The first of the students came done the stairs and glanced around, saw the others grouped around the fire, and rushed over.

"Morning, Lavender," said Hermione tiredly.

"You lot are up early, aren't you?"

"Too early to deal with her," Clary muttered into Jace's ear and he laughed, earning a very dark look from Lavender.

"Are you all going down for breakfast?" she asked, eyes mostly on Ron. "Paravati is still sleeping but I'm s_tarving_ and can't wait for her."

"I've actually got to…" Clary realized she had no way of finishing the sentence. "Shower, I need a shower."

"Me as well," said Hermione swiftly. "We were just going to get our things and head out. Sorry, Lavender."

Lavender, looking disappointed for the loss of an excuse to eat breakfast with Ron, smiled one more time for his benefit before heading for the portrait hole. As she went, Ron frowned. "Lavender seems a bit keen, doesn't she?"

"If you were any more unobservant, I'd think you were blind," said Jace disgustedly. "Actually, no, even blind people pick up on hints. You're more like a hermit crab that lives at the bottom of the ocean and breeds asexually."

"I was just going to say he buds." It was Ginny, and she fell into the seat nearest Clary, smirking at her brother.

"Like an amoeba?" Clary asked, and then used her hands to mime mitotic cell division. "Perfect replicates."

"We don't need more copies of Ron," said Ginny, laughing at the outraged look on her brother's face. "If he had any help, he could follow me around _all_ the time, glowering while I'm with Dean."

"Brother's job, is what it is!" Ron said, outraged. "And one day, you'll thank me for it."

Ginny raised an eyebrow. "I'm sure. Anyway, I only stopped by to see when we're having Quidditch practice."

"This evening. Unless…" he paused, not wanting Ginny to know about his lessons with Dumbledore. "…something comes up."

Ginny stood, smiling in a way that made Harry's insides flip. "You think Snape is going to give you a detention during the _weekend_?"

"He's been giving me detention during lessons for six years," Harry said with equal verve. "Must be getting boring by now."

"Must be," Ginny agreed before she left the common room.

"You're expecting Dumbledore back?" Jace asked, curious at once. "Do you know where he was?"

"No, I don't know, to either of those questions," said Harry in a hard voice. "Though, I'm going to take a stab in the dark and guess he wasn't trying to make contact with the Lightwoods."

Jace scowled. "He told us he'd set up a onetime connection to Magnus' apartment."

"He's been busy," said Clary, trying to remain calm. The truth was that she was desperate for news of her friends, and Dumbledore taking his time was becoming frustrating. "I mean, if Dumbledore expects Voldemort to attack Idris now that Valentine has control, he's probably planning for that."

"But why would he attack now?" Jace asked. "He wants _us_ and he knows we're not there."

"But _why_ does he want you?" It was Hermione, and she had been preoccupied with this question since Valentine had taken over Idris as it seemed far more pertinent now. "What use are you alive to Voldemort?"

"Well, what use are we dead?" Clary countered with a touch a frostiness in her voice.

"What I mean," said Hermione, "is that there are, quite literally, thousands of shadowhunters in Idris. If Voldemort wanted one, I'm sure he could find one there. What makes you different?"

Jace and Clary glanced at each other. They themselves didn't know _exactly _what made them different, they only knew that they were. It left them in peculiar situation: they could tell Harry, Ron, and Hermione, and reveal what could, potentially, be quite a disturbing secret of their father's; or, they could continue to hide the truth, but get no further in figuring out Voldemort's plan. Clary glanced at Jace, and she could tell by the look in his eyes that he was waiting for her response; whatever she chose, it seemed, would be his decision.

"We _are_ Valentine's children," Clary hedged, "and he might-"

"Oy, have you seen Ginny?" Clary snapped her mouth shut as Dean came over between them. "She said she'd wait for me, but it looks like she's already gone?"

"Obviosuly," Ron muttered.

Harry wasn't feeling very sympathetic to Dean either. "She left a few minutes ago for breakfast."

"Figures," Dean said to himself and rolled his eyes before leaving them.

"I'm getting sick of him," growled Ron, watching Dean's retreating back. "I wish Ginny would just dump him."

Harry nodded in a non-committal fashion, but saw Jace watching him with his strange, yellow eyes. "Maybe we should go down. Everyone is up anyway, and it's not like we can talk anymore."

Clary yawned, thinking of bed. "Maybe I'll just go back to bed."

"Oh, no," said Jace, trying to be serious. "You're the one who wanted to wait in the owlery all night. You need to stay up with me." Jace glanced at the others. "Don't leave me with them."

"Are you still on about that?" Harry asked, rising up. "When are you going to admit that you like us?"

"Never?" Jace answered, but his voice was light and careless.

"Alright, boys," Clary sighed, and nodded toward the portrait hole. "If I'm staying up, I need coffee. Let's go."

They joined their fellow early risers and headed out the portrait hole. The great hall was filling up steadily by the time they arrived, and many students were talking hopefully of the day to come. There was that disconcerting feeling Jace sometimes got that nothing was ever happening here, and the students were simply ignoring the events of the outside world. They took their seats some ways down from a bunch of gossiping girls for breakfast.

"So, Quidditch tonight?" Ron asked, looking to Harry who was pushing some eggs around his plate. "First match is coming up soon."

"I expect we'll be fine," Harry shrugged. Malfoy had just entered, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle, and was looking sour. "I heard Ravenclaw's a mess this year."

"Who told you that?" Hermione asking, thinking about Cho.

Harry frowned at her. "I don't know, someone mentioned in in last Potions class. Malfoy's not looking too good, is he?"

Jace turned in his seat to stare at the other boy. "Now, in my opinion, is the time to attack. Knives and forks should do fine."

"Kicking while their down," Harry mused. "How brave."

"As opposed to kicking him while he's up?" Jace looked confused. "How could I reach his face then?

"Plotting over here, are we?"

Clary scowled as Romilda Vane and her Ravenclaw friend came by. Romilda smiled warmly at Harry and the other girl cast a sly look Jace's way. Hermione gestured to the food in front of them. "We plan now over bacon, strike later over lunch."

"I suppose we must be especially careful then," Romilda said playfully, trying to catch Harry's eye. "Don't want any surprise attacks."

"Like in the library," the Ravenclaw girl said, laughing as if it was a joke.

Clary smirked, meeting her gaze fully. "Never know what you might find there."

The girl must not have expected Clary to be so forward, because she looked away, blushing a bit. Romilda was a bit quicker. "Could be exciting, though."

Harry, who was a bit embarrassed by Romilda's flirting, took a long drawn on his orange juice. "Probably not as much as you think."

"There's only one way to find out," Romilda returned.

"Battle to the death?" Jace asked loudly. "We kept swords in the library at the Institute. Great, big ones for demon hunting. That's pretty exciting."

Harry and Ron snorted into their food and Clary flashed another predatory look at Romilda and her friend. Romilda opened her mouth to say something, but, unable to find a response to Jace's statement, she looked around at them. Hermione, diplomatic as always, helped herself to a glass of orange juice.

"Well, barring swords and axes and whatever other weapons you might find in a library, that's where I'll be today. Clary, do you want to come along? We can finish that essay for Potions."

"Yeah, I haven't got the slightest clue about what's going on, and after my last assignment, Slughorn will send me to-"

"Owl!" Ron cried as a fluffy ball dropped out of the air and crashed into the table.

Everyone pulled their plates away from the owl as it rolled upright and watched as it tiredly pecked a piece of bacon.

"Razz," said Clary, reaching for the owl who hooted at her in greeting.

"Looks frazzled," said Jace, and he held out his hand a moment, letting the owl adjust to his presence. When Razz bobbed Jace a small bow, he began to pet his feathered head. "You tired, big guy?"

Clary smiled at Jace's tenderness. "And he's got a letter."

* * *

"Look at this place, it's ridiculous," Alecto said, looking down from the hill at the city. The sun had risen over it and the towers were glowing in the light. "Who builds something like this?"

"Idiots," hissed Amycus. "It won't matter soon. The Dark Lord will have them in the end. Imagine this city then…imagine the filthy, little animals as they run."

Alecto turned away from Alicante and back toward the darkness that the forest provided. "Come, we should take the potion now and head immediately to the city."

"I despise the idea," said Amycus. "Consorting with the likes of them. It sickens me. The sooner the Dark Lord finds those Morgenstern brats, the better."

"What does he need them for, I wonder," Alecto said thoughtfully as he stirred the potion. "They must be more than just shadowhunter children."

"No one knows," said Amycus, and she looked irritated at the idea. "He says they are different. I wonder how he will use them."

Alecto paused in stirring the potion and glanced back toward the city. "I hope he destroys them. I hope he breaks them into pieces."

Amycus took her brother's place before the potion and began to divvy it out into two glasses. "They are children, Alecto, nothing more. Perhaps he has plans to make an example out of them, perhaps he is simply going to cut them open and see what their insides look like." She laughed at the idea. "I do not think they will help him crumble this city."

Alecto reached into his cloak and removed a few hairs; he separated them and dropped them into the glasses. One potion turned so blue it was almost white and other deep red. Alecto and Amycus looked down at their potions, their faces glowing in the shifting light. Alecto raised the glass to his lips, but before he drank from it, he met his sister's eyes.

"The Morgenstern children will break. The shadowhunters will break. Towers of glass break, remember that too."


	2. Desolation

**I am really sorry about how long this took, but it's actually because this past weekend, I graduated with my Bachelors...so, yeah, kind of a big milestone there. Anyway, thanks for waiting and I hope you enjoy it. **

Desolation

_I did my waiting!_

_-Sirius Black_

"I want to go out!" Max whined, looking out of the window of Magnus Bane's apartment. He could see the city street below, see the people hurrying about in the cooling evening, see the throbbing, almost violent life of New York City. "Can't we go see a movie, get dinner, something?"

Isabelle was slouched on one of the couches, looking at the television but not really seeing it. "We can't, Max," she said after a long pause, like she had almost forgotten he had spoken at all. "We go one at a time, and only for the necessities. We're lying low."

"How come it's always Alec that gets to go?" Max complained, pressing his palms flat against the glass.

"Because Alec is the oldest, and if you leave prints on Magnus' windows, I won't be responsible for what he does to you." Isabelle managed to pull herself up into the sitting position. "Why don't you come watch T.V.? There's a bunch of marathons on for that Mundie holiday."

"It's too early for Christmas," Max said smartly.

"The turkey one," Isabelle corrected. When Max remained resolute, Isabelle sighed loudly. "Max, sitting there night and day won't get you out any faster. Come on, look, it's a cartoon."

Max pressed his lips together. "What's it called?"

"Family Man, American Guy…I don't know." Isabelle turned the volume up as Max slouched over. "You've never seen anything like this before. We didn't have a T.V. at the Institute, remember?"

It was the wrong thing to say because suddenly all Max could think of was the Institute, leveled to a pile of ash and rubble. "We didn't have anything," he said darkly.

Isabelle glanced at him sharply and saw the look on his face: bleak, empty, despair. Silently, she reached out a hand and Max came forward after a long, considering look. Isabelle wrapped him up carefully in her arms, holding him tightly.

"We have plenty of things, Max, you know that. And we'll have them again." Isabelle rubbed his back. "We'll have a home again, you'll have books, and I'll have clothes, Alec will have…he'll have Jace back."

"Jace will come home?" Max asked, pulling back enough to look at Isabelle's face. "He will, won't he?"

"We'll _all_ go home," said Isabelle meaningfully. "The Institute will be rebuilt and we'll go home one day."

"One day," said Max, and he sounded desolate. "It'll be a long time before that day though."

"I won't pretend that we'll be celebrating Christmas in the Institute," said Isabelle bracingly. "But it's our home, and we'll return to it. These streets, these buildings, this city, is our city. It's where we belong."

Max lowered his eyes and nodded his head, not accepting of this, but not angry enough to argue. He climbed up onto the couch and sat beside Isabelle, staring at the television. "What do you think Alec is bringing back for dinner?"

"Hopefully something easy to cook. Last time, Magnus wasn't quite so pleased with the state of his kitchen." Isabelle cringed a little as she recalled the look on Magnus' face when he came in on her trying to prepare breaded chicken breasts. "Maybe just a pizza."

"Mom makes good pizza," Max said bitterly.

"She does, but since she's not here at the moment, I'm going to have to take her place."

Max made a face. "Are we going to go back to Idris? How are we going to get Mom and Dad if we don't go back?"

Isabelle sighed. How was she to explain to her brother the state of Idris? She and Alec had sat him down and told him how Valentine had captured the city and was in charge of the Clave, but that didn't quite capture the severity of the situation, nor the position it placed them in. Valentine wanted his children back, and, as Jace's adoptive family, they would make prime targets for any of his plans. How could Isabelle explain that Valentine would have no qualms hurting him if he got his hands on Max? Would Max understand just how much more danger Jace would be in if Valentine had the Lightwoods?

_And that's not even the half of it_, she thought tiredly.

Somewhere, another man was stalking Jace and Clary's footsteps. No one had heard word of Lord Voldemort, though Magnus kept his ear to the ground, and Isabelle was beginning to chafe at the delay in action. She had been sure that with the Clave in such a shattered state, Voldemort would strike, but he appeared to be taking his time. She wondered sometimes if he really existed at all; was it possible Lord Voldemort was just some illusion, designed by the Ministry of Magic to scare the shadowhunters? Was it possible that wherever Jace and Clary were, they were actually being held against their will?

Isabelle clutched Max a little closer to her side. "We have to wait and see how Valentine moves first. I don't think he'll hurt them, not if they have sense enough to protect themselves, but we can't just barge in and try and attack. The Clave-and all the shadowhunters-are his now. Technically, we are enemies of the state."

"But that'll be different once he's gone," said Max with such certainty even Isabelle couldn't deny him.

Truthfully, she didn't know where they would stand when this was all over. Secretly, Isabelle suspected that not a few members of the Clave were happy with Valentine in power, happy with the power they inherited, happy with the new laws he would make; she wondered where these shadowhunters would stand once he was gone. How could anyone who sided with Valentine now be members of the Clave once Valentine was gone? And, surely, the Ministry of Magic would be revealed in the upcoming months? If Lord Voldemort really was planning an attack, the truth would be revealed. And her parents…what if her parents swore alliance to Valentine under duress? What if they swore _willingly_?

"Everything will be different," she agreed.

Max became quiet after that and watched the characters on the television while he thought about his parents, somewhere in Idris, possibly in danger. Beside him, Isabelle offered a reassuring presence that Max had grown accustomed to with Alec gone so often, but it made him notice Alec's absence even more. To make himself forget Alec, he thought about what Isabelle had said and his home: the Institute, his bedroom, the library, the study where he sometimes found his father. But this left a painful ache as well. How was it fair that he had lost his home _and_ his family? To two different wars, no less?

_It's not fair,_ Max thought bitterly, and there was an twinge in the pit of his stomach, an emotion he couldn't place. _I want to go home._

They sat together, Isabelle thinking of the future, Max thinking of the past, neither of them happy with the prospect. After an hour of the cartoons on the television speaking to them, the front door clicked. Naturally, Isabelle spun a dagger in her hand, preparing to strike if Valentine or Voldemort had found them, but Alec's familiar face appeared. When he entered the sitting area, Max sat up a little straighter.

"What's for dinner?" he asked at once.

"Pizza," said Alec, holding up a bag from the grocery. "Go turn the oven on."

Max looked between Isabelle and Alec, sensing that an important conversation was about to pass between them. "I'm not hungry."

"Yes, you are," said Alec busily. "And so am I. Go on, turn the oven on and wait for it to hit 350, then put the pizza in."

"Why?" Max asked, a hint of a whine in his voice.

"Isabelle can't cook, and my taste buds are bad, so one of us has to," Alec said reasonably, and pushed the bag with the frozen pizza in his hand.

"You don't have bad taste buds," Max grumbled, but took the pizza and stomped into the kitchen.

Isabelle didn't turn to watch her brother, but when she heard the clicking of the oven, she raised an eyebrow at Alec. "What's the news?"

"Nothing good. Word from Idris-what little there is-is that Valentine has reorganized the Clave already and it trying to turn others to him with Obedience runes." Alec worried his lip. "The old Circle members are first on his list."

Isabelle sat up straighter. "Mom and Dad."

"They might not have a choice when he comes to them. I mean, they can't exactly refuse to do what he says. He's got the Clave on his side." Alec bowed his head a moment in thought. "If they go over to Valentine, he'll find out about the Ministry of Magic."

Isabelle pressed her lips together. "He'll go after Jace and Clary, yes, but what are the chances of him finding them? Magnus is a Downworlder, for the Angel's sake, and he can't even find the school. What makes you think Valentine can?"

"I didn't say he could," said Alec, though he had been thinking it. "But, it's only going to make their situation more dangerous. Sirius said he would warn them, but I don't know if he understands the gravity of the situation."

"They probably think the same about us," Isabelle observed wryly. "And, speaking of our wizard brethren…has Magnus had any luck locating the school?"

Alec took a seat opposite his sister. "In Scotland, hidden in mountains…the usual. He says that maybe-maybe we should consider focusing more on ourselves at the moment. Avoiding attention."

Isabelle's eyes flashed. "Parents-Valentine's prisoners, Jace-learning magic, and our home-burned to rubble. You think we should just avoid attention?"

"I think we should consider doing a little bit of…digging." Isabelle opened her mouth to argue, but Alec was faster. "We don't have a good idea of the state of Idris; we don't have the slightest clue as to what's going on with our parents. Jace and Clary are somewhere in Europe, and since we don't know where to start looking, it's not like we're making any headway with them."

"And what does _digging_ involve?" Isabelle asked in a voice like ice.

"Being sensible," Alec returned sharply. "This is not the time for making rash decisions. We ought to listen to Magnus."

"Because _he's_ sensible," Isabelle said under her breath, looking away from her brother. "_Too_ sensible."

"I've been called many thing, my dear, but _too sensible_ is not one them." Magnus came sweeping into the room, a smile plastered on his face, but it belied the flames in his eyes. "Or was that your pitiful excuse at sarcasm?"

"Pitiful?"

"Yes, painfully so." Magnus flopped down on a chair, snapped his fingers, and watched as a decanter of bourbon filled a glass. "Stick to your looks."

"I'll be just as happy to stick to me whip, if we're going for pain-"

"Enough," Alec said, catching each of their eyes in turn. "We're not getting anywhere as long as you two are at each other's throat."

"We're not," said Isabelle, pouting. "Hardly."

Alec caught Magnus' eye one more time before continuing, "Since we don't know where Hogwarts is, I think perhaps we should concentrate now and strengthening our defenses. We know Valentine wants us, and if it gets out that we're alive to the wizards, we'll be dealing with two enemies."

"Max and I will go crazy if we're stuck here any longer," Isabelle said shorty. "There's no room to train, there's no books for Max to learn from, and there's nothing here I can use to help. I won't be trapped in this apartment."

Alec bit his lip; he knew Isabelle wouldn't have taken the new arrangements well, and he didn't want his younger brother falling behind in training. "We could take turns going out…"

"_No_, Alec," Isabelle said in a hard voice. "I'm not waiting for you to accept that I can fight."

"Isabelle-"

"I have a suggestion," said Magnus, who sensed Isabelle's rising temper. Both Isabelle and Alec looked his way. "While most the shadowhunters were in Idris when Valentine attacked, I find it hard to believe that he found them all. What if you go out looking for any stragglers? Track down the last free shadowhunters?"

Isabelle blinked. "When we find them, then what?"

Magnus smiled. "If we want to fight Valentine we'll need more than just two shadowhunters, some werewolves, and me. I would image they might want Valentine gone, too."

Isabelle glanced at Alec. "He's right. Even after we find Jace and Clary, we'll need help."

Alec turned to look out the window on New York and frowned. The events of the last month had left Alec feeling particularly hesitant about letting his siblings go unlooked after. _But, Magnus is right. Even Jace can't fight an army of shadowhunters. _Alec looked back to Magnus and Isabelle. "We can start tomorrow. Let's just hope the others aren't in hiding as well as are."

* * *

"What do you think they're talking about?" Maryse asked from her place on the stone bench. "They're closer to us this time. Perhaps it's us?"

Robert Lightwood, sitting just to the right of the door, looked toward it and considered the voices. They were certainly closer than usual, not echoing down a long line of cells, and they were louder. He thought for a moment about standing and peeking out the grated window of their cell, but thought better of it. He wouldn't look like a miserable dog, begging for scrapes of news at the back door. Instead, he titled his head ever so slightly, listened a bit more, and then returned his attention to Maryse.

"I didn't hear our name. Just talk."

Maryse swallowed loudly and said in a harsh whisper, "Valentine will come for us soon, Robert. He's locked us down here for now, but that doesn't mean he's forgotten us. We were in his Circle. For the Angel's sake, we were his son's godparents!"

Robert looked hard at Maryse. It had been a hard blow to Robert to come home and find that his godson had been taken from him, and it was almost unbearable to think that _his _children had been murdered in the same war that had taken Jace. The two events were so closely related in his mind that to think of one was to invite the other, and Robert had no intention of thinking of his dead children.

"If Valentine wants his son, he can find him on his own." Robert turned away.

"Jace is our son," Maryse said coldly. "We owe him whatever help we can give."

"Owe _him_?" Robert hissed at the wall.

Maryse studied her husband's averted face severely. She mourned the loss of her children-more so than she would ever admit-but some small part of her knew Jace was alive. And whether or not he was her son by blood, she had raised him for ten years. She couldn't bring Alec, Isabelle, or Max back, but she could do what was right by her oaths and protect the one child she had left.

"He's in danger," was all Maryse said.

It was funny to Robert, in some dark, wretched way, that _he's in danger _could sound so similar to _he _is _a danger_. Robert chuckled.

"Don't you dare laugh," Maryse said under her breath. "Don't you dare think for even a moment that this is a joke. _I_ thought that war was a joke, _I_ thought those wizards and witches were a joke, and look what's come of it!"

"Valentine will see to their end," shrugged Robert. "They can fight all they want, but in the end, Valentine will make quick work of them."

"That doesn't quite bring me as much joy as it brings you," Maryse said evenly.

Robert snapped around to stare at his wife. They had been in their cell for almost two weeks, and in that time, the situation between them had deteriorated. True, their relationship had already been strained by Valentine's constant presence in their lives, and the war they had been involved in, but recent events had begun to draw out the worst in them. When Robert had been told Maryse had let wizards take Jace, he had been bitter at being left out of the decision. When his children ran away, that bitterness had bloomed into anger. They were _his_ children and they had simply run away; they had disgraced the family with their actions. He and Maryse had taken immediate action to locate them, to bring them home and make them see reason. But then…home was destroyed. That war the shadowhunters had so easily ignored came bursting into their lives. Robert and Maryse had escaped, but just barely, and the Institute had burned to rubble. Their friends dead, their children presumably in hiding, but much more likely, dead, Robert and Maryse had stood among the remains of their home one last time before bidding New York farewell, for certainly, there had been nothing left for them there. The loss of their home and the death of their children had knocked whatever anger had been left in Robert, so that now, nothing seemed to matter to him anymore. Maryse's constant struggle, Valentine's army, the witches and wizards…none of them meant anything to him anymore.

"You think I'm happy?" Robert asked blankly. "You think I am pleased with this situation?"

"Well, you haven't been making any effort to try and change it," Maryse observed.

"Why bother changing it? Why bother with it at all?" Robert slammed his hand on his knee. "What would be the point in changing where we are when there's nothing for us anyway? In here or out there, we are the same."

"Our family and friends-"

"Our family is dead!" Robert snapped. "Alec, Isabelle and Max are gone. And us? You and I? I think we both know exactly where we stand. Right where we stood nine years ago, before Max was born."

Maryse sucked her breath in, but her voice was still even. "Whatever you feel for me, it hardly matters. Jace is still out there, and he's still at risk of Valentine and the wizards."

"Jace is of no mind to me," Robert returned gruffly. "He's safe, safe as he can be now. Remember? That's what those wizards said when they took him. I notice, of course, that they didn't take our children. Just Jace."

"I wouldn't let them. That was my fault," Maryse said, wondering if there could have been something she could have done to change the course events that had brought them here.

"Yes, you certainly made all the choices that day," Robert growled. "And, here we are now. You must be so pleased."

"I want to help my son," she said stiffly.

"He doesn't need your help. He's got better help." Robert leaned back against the wall. "And Jonathan isn't your son."

Maryse opened her mouth to respond, but at that moment, the door to their cell opened and a clear, amused voice drifted in. "How right you are, Robert. He's my son."

Both Lightwoods jerked about to face the door to their cell, and found it filled with the large form of Valentine Morgenstern. He was looking at them with the same look he used when he was the leader of the Circle: the slightest smirk, a dismissive gesture, an amused glance. Valentine met each of their eyes, seeking out any weakness. Maryse steeled herself for a confrontation, but Robert merely slumped back to his position on the bench.

"And, Clarissa, is my daughter." He entered the cell completely and shut the door behind him. Maryse noted he carried no weapon, and she wondered what trick he planning just then. "Now, as I understood it, my children were both in your purview."

"You had _that_ wrong, didn't you?" Maryse said tightly.

"Excuse me?"

"You're wrong, and you know it," Maryse said in a stronger voice. "Jace isn't your son."

Valentine frowned, eyeing Maryse closely, like he had never seen her before. "Again, excuse me?"

"There are no excuses," she said in clipped tones. "You lied. I shouldn't be surprised by it…the Angel only knows why I believed you to begin with…but you lied."

"I have no idea what you mean. I raised Jonathan, I taught him how to read, how to fight, how to ride a horse. I made him a shadowhunter."

"You did all those things, but that doesn't make him your son," Maryse whispered. "And you sent him away when he was ten years old. No parent would send their child away."

Valentine laughed. "No? Then where is Jonathan now? Did you not send my son away?"

Maryse swallowed. "To protect him. We sent Jace away to protect him."

"You think by sending him away I won't find him? You think hiding will protect him from me?" Valentine slowly crossed the cell, watching Maryse from the corner of his eye. "Where did you send the boy?"

Maryse glanced at Robert, who was still refusing to pay either of them his attention, and then faced Valentine with a superior look. "I won't tell you."

"I know you're hiding him from me," Valentine said, not looking at Maryse, but up at the small window that was level with the road outside. He could see sunlight glancing off the stones and wondered if he could turn the idea of freedom against the Lightwoods.

"And if we tell you where he is, you'll set us free, I suppose?" Maryse guessed.

"Hardly," Valentine scoffed. "But I will release you from this cell."

Maryse considered Valentine. He wasn't facing her, but she doubted that even if he was, it would have helped her much; Valentine's face never betrayed a hint of emotion. "Whether in this cell or out, I'll be no happier."

Valentine didn't let his frustration show. "You would be able to visit with your friends, search for your-"

"Our children are dead," Robert snarled, slamming his hand down on the bench. "Do not try that ploy, Valentine. They died not long before the fire that destroyed the Institute."

Valentine opened his mouth to respond with a sneering joke at their expense, for Jonathan had seen Alec Lightwood alive, but he paused, thinking. _They think their children are dead, but I know they're not. I could tell them, and they would certainly want to escape this prison then, but then I would lose whatever advantage that knowledge gives me._ When Valentine turned to face them, he saw a tension in Maryse he had never seen before. _For now, I'll keep it to myself._

"Is that why you're so keen to keep my son from me?"

"Do you think that's the only reason?"

Valentine refused to take the bait, but the thought of what Jonathan had seen-the warlocks-lingered with him. "I think you're being a fool."

_He knows I know something,_ Maryse thought, watching his eyes. _He doesn't know what, but it's something._ Maryse smiled grimly. "Fool or not, I won't tell you where we sent Jace."

"I'll find him," Valentine warned. "I'll find him and Clarissa and bring them back here. You can't keep me from what's mine."

Maryse pursed her lips. "They're not yours."

"If I say they are, they are, and I'll take far better care of my children than you did yours," Valentine said slowly, now turning his attention on Robert. "I'll protect them." He waited for Robert to rise to his jibe, but when he didn't Valentine frowned, considering the man. "Perhaps you simply don't care?"

"Perhaps I don't," said Robert, disinterested. "If you really do believe yourself, and if I believe you, there is nothing I can do to stop you. Why should I bother?"

It wasn't the answer Valentine wanted. "If that's how you want it, I certainly won't stop you from wasting away in this cell."

"I wouldn't have it any other way," Robert grunted. He didn't care much for what Valentine would off him; it wouldn't make him any happier to listen.

Valentine eyed Robert unhelpfully but then returned to Maryse. "While your husband seems unmoved by the plight of children, I always imagined you as taking a bit more care. What do you say to my proposal?"

Maryse snarled silently. "Go to hell, Valentine."

"Your concern is duly noted," he replied dryly. "Don't forget that I offered you my protection. Don't forget that I wanted to help you."

"How could we forget?" Maryse gestured around the cell. "You're help brought us here."

"And, now, it will leave you here," Valentine said curtly as he turned to leave.

* * *

"Maddy, please, just give me a minute."

"Nathan," she sighed, jabbing a finger in Nathaniel's face. "I'm bored."

"Well, I'm tired." He rolled over and ducked his head under the blankets on his bed.

"But, there's nothing to do here. Mr. Remus left after he made breakfast." Madeline watched her brother's prostrate form and stomped her foot. "I want to go outside."

"There's nothing out there," Nathaniel reasoned, but he shifted onto his back.

"Take me outside, Nathan!" Maddy crawled onto the bed and bounced around. "There's a forest out there, and Mr. Remus said there's a lake."

"You'll just fall in and be cold," Nathaniel sighed, but Maddy grappled with the blankets until she jerked them off his body. The cold of the room was enough to make Nathaniel curl up into a tight ball. "Maddy, please, I don't feel well."

Madeline sat back on the bed and watched her brother for a moment. His skin was pale as the snow now frosting the ground, his hair, plastered to his forehead, and his body distinctly skinny. He shivered and, slowly Madeline draped the blanket back over his body. "Are you sick, Nathan?"

"Just tired," he grunted, but he said it only for his sister's benefit. "I was up late last night."

"With Mr. Remus?" Madeline asked.

"Hmm," Nathaniel gave a non-committal response, and his sister moved a bit closer. He had no intention of telling her that he had been up with Remus, but only because he was so sore he couldn't bear sleep.

"You should sleep when I do," she said seriously. "I sleep all though the night."

Nathaniel doubted very much that sleeping more would help, but he smiled all the same at Madeline and sat up. "So, you want to go out? I suppose the cold air might be refreshing."

Madeline's face brightened. "And can we go to the lake?"

"Yes, of course." Nathaniel mussed his hair and swung his legs around the bed. "But, just promise me you won't fall in-"

"I won't!"

"Then get your coat and meet me in the foyer."

Madeline rushed out of the room, clapping her hands together and pounded down the hall. Nathaniel stood and cringed as the muscles in his legs ached and his stomach turned. He hobbled to his dresser and removed pants, a shirt, and a sweater, while rolling through the balls of his feet to bring life back into them. He'd asked Remus how long it would take for the aching in his body to fade, but Remus had only offered him a sad shrug. It came with the territory he said, and aches and pains were simply part of the process.

Nathaniel left the room, a bit stronger in his step, and closed the door loudly behind him. He maneuvered the narrow hallway of the upper story of the house carefully, using the wall as a balance, but when he approached the stairs, he balked a moment. Determined, he took a strong grip on the railing and went one step at a time. They were just as narrow as the hall, and they creaked under his weight like they were about to break. When he reached the landing, Madeline was waiting, watching him with a bemused look in her eye.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing, pass me a cloak." On level ground, Nathaniel was a bit better off, and he managed to maneuver toward the cloak Madeline was holding. He smiled at his sister, who was looking at him askance. "Bundle up. The winters here are harder here than home."

After a moment, Nathaniel realized what he had said and glanced at his sister. Madeline, though, was dancing around the door, and hadn't realized the mention of their lost home, and Nathaniel, not wanting to push the point further, threw open the front door of the house and stepped out into the frosty air.

They were at Remus' home, a small, two-bedroom structure that was situated on a forgotten moor. Before them stretched what seemed like an endless view of hills and dales, coated in stubby grasses and blanketed in frost. A chilly fog had settled over the moors, and it obscured anything at any great distance, but the shadow of the forest that encircled the home was visible through the mist. Nathaniel curled his nose up at the miserable surroundings.

_We've been exiled, _he thought, looking behind him at the house. _Exiled in fear. _

As soon as Albus Dumbledore had gotten word of the attack on Idris, he'd leapt into action. Clary and Jace, of course, would be under even closer supervision at the school, but what about he and Madeline? Dumbledore's response was…pragmatic, to say the least. Madeline and Nathaniel had been immediately removed from the Weasley's house for fear of being noticed by Valentine, or by Voldemort, who Dumbledore was certain would leak such information to Valentine's forces. How, exactly, Voldemort would do this, Nathaniel had no idea, but Dumbledore had explained that should Valentine learn of a shadowhunter girl being raised by warlocks, he would be certain to investigate, and that investigation would lead him to the Ministry of Magic. And, the last thing they needed now was a war with shadowhunters.

So, seeking to hide them, Dumbledore had removed Nathaniel and Madeline to Remus' home: a lonely, forgotten thing somewhere in Scotland where no one would think to look. It had been a particular blow to Madeline, who loved Mrs. Weasley like a new mother, and who cried for two days when she discovered the house she would now live in didn't have a bed for her, let alone a sweet, magical mother-like woman to bake treats. Nathaniel saw no outright change in his situation; the house provided him he same loneliness necessary to change into a werewolf.

_Still, some damn company might not go amiss,_ he thought as they set off across the moors toward the woods and the lake Madeline wanted desperately to see.

Nathaniel was hoping that very soon, he might receive word from Dumbeldore saying he and Madeline might be welcome back to the school grounds, or, even better, the Burrow, but with his next change so close, he doubted that very much. He wondered if perhaps Madeline might at least be sent away to avoid any potential risks, and was on the verge of begging Remus to take her somewhere else to keep her safe. But, Remus had left early that day, and he had said he wouldn't be back until the night of Nathaniel's next transformation. Now, he was just going to have to care for Madeline until the night of the transformation.

They made their way slowly toward the tree line, Madeline dancing ahead and Nathaniel keeping a close eye on her. When they reached the tree line, Madeline ran a hand over the bark and glanced back at her brother. "When you are wolf, dose the forest look different?"

Nathaniel paused, impressed that his sister was both curious and accepting of his life, and considered the question. "Everything is clearer," he said.

Madeline pursed her lips as they crossed into the shadows of the tree. For a moment, she wondered what it would be like to be a werewolf, to change shape once a month and spend a night seeing the world through different eyes. _Everything is clearer_. It resonated with her in a way. What was clearer? Was it just his sight? His sense of smell? Did being a wolf make you wiser? Did it connect you with nature?

When they reached the lake, Madeline crept to the edge of the water and stared at her reflection. Her thick, curly hair fell in a curtain around her face, and she saw her eyes peek out from behind the strands. In the water, she couldn't see more than a few inches, as it was so murky. "Do you think there's a monster down there?" she asked her brother, who was watching for anything.

"Doubt it," Nathaniel said. "Nothing there but bad tasting fish."

"Will you look for me?" she asked, drawing back from the water, uncomfortable with her inability to see to the bottom. Uncomfortable with the unknown. "Will you check when you're a wolf?"

Nathaniel glanced at his sister, sitting back on her knees before the pool, and drew up behind her. "You have nothing to worry about, Maddy. I'll protect you."


	3. Divided We Fall

Divided We Fall

_Killing is not so easy as the innocent believe._

_-Albus Dumbledore _

Clary was beating a frantic tempo with her wand against the desk, watching Professor McGonagall write notes across the board before the class. She glanced at Jace, who was leaning his chair back farther and father, with a glazed look on his face; Harry, at his side, was smirking and no doubt thinking how humorous it would be for Jace to fall on his back.

_As long as Jace doesn't ruin the letter from the Lightwoods, he can fall on his ass as much as he wants, _Clary thought. She leaned a little closer hoping to maybe snatch his book bag and fish the letter out, but, before she could inch closer, her wand tip sparked and the desk was set aflame.

"Do pay attention back there!" Professor McGonagall cried, glancing at Clary and Hermione's smoking desk. "And put that out."

Hermione produced a spout of water with a smart flick of her wand. "She's going to make us sit in the front."

"I want that letter," Clary growled.

The arrival of the letter from the Lightwoods had been unfortunately interrupted by the subsequent arrival of Draco Malfoy, who, in a sudden show of his old self, chose that moment to begin hinting at the recent events in Idris. He seemed uncharacteristically pleased, with a spring in his step as he joined their table. Jace and Clary, who had never quite experienced Malfoy at his finest, were taken aback.

"Letter from _home_?" Malfoy asked with a casual sneer.

Clary narrowed her eyes. "Jealous? I don't suppose you get all that many letters from your family. At least not your father."

Malfoy didn't lose his smile. "Family? Just exactly who _is_ your family? Morgenstern? Herondale? _Lightwood_?" His eyes moved to Jace before Clary could respond. His gaze slid up and down Jace's figure, finally stopping on his face. "Tell me, do you take after your mother or your father?"

"You'd better hope it's neither," Jace said softly. "Given that they were both shadowhunters."

Malfoy laughed. "Both shadowhunters who are too afraid to protect you themselves?"

Jace curled his fist around the butter knife he was using. "Our families aren't afraid-"

"No? So, they just don't like you then? I imagine they jumped on an excuse to send you two away." Malfoy's eyes moved to Harry and Ron sitting opposite Jace and Clary. "Must be great for you, Potter, having more orphans around. You can start a club for unwanted children."

Harry merely raised his eyebrows. "And you'd be welcome in the club for biggest gits in the world."

Malfoy chose to ignore that statement and continued his dogged attack on Jace and Clary. "I might be the biggest git in the world, but at least my parents want me. How old were you when your father kicked you to the curb?" Jace's eyes widened just a little, more surprised at Malfoy's knowledge of his past than anything else. "Ten, weren't you?"

"And how old were you when your parents just stopped caring?" he responded.

Malfoy curled his lip. This time, he flicked his gaze at Clary. "Interesting you would mention parental care. I mean, my parents might not be outstanding, but imagine…imagine if your own father hated you. Imagine if one of your parents wanted nothing to do with you because you were worthless? Don't think I could live like that."

Clary, who like Jace was shocked by Malfoy's knowledge of her life, managed to keep her face trained into a blank expression. "Don't you live like that already? The disappointment of the family? Or is it just that your entire family is a disappointment?"

Malfoy's hand jerked toward his wand tucked in his pocket. "You shouldn't talk about things you don't know, shadowhunter."

"Neither should you," Clary whispered, and a slow smile crept over her face. "Wizards have laws they have to follow, don't they? Our family-the shadowhunters-we're outside your law. You might want to remember that." Jace smiled faintly at Clary's attitude.

"Are you threatening me?" Malfoy hissed.

"That wasn't a threat," Jace said wryly. "That was an observation of fact."

"And how are they going to find me? Seems to me," Malfoy sneered, "that if your family really did want to find you-or hurt me, as you seem to think-they're doing a poor job of it. Doesn't that tell you something about how they feel about you?"

"Clary and I are more than capable of handling you ourselves" Jace supplied.

"But, you're also under the law of the Ministry now, and my family's got friends in the Ministry." Malfoy glanced at Ron. "Friends worth having."

"Funny," said Hermione quickly, before Ron's temper picked up "because the way we hear it, your family has been on the out with the Ministry since your father announced to the world he was a Death Eater."

"I said, _friends worth having_," Malfoy smirked. "And I've got them, too."

"Really?" Harry asked loudly, glancing over at Snape at the head table. "I thought we knew all your _friend_?"

"Shut it, Potter," Malfoy growled.

"Just another observation," Harry said lightly.

"You keep making those observations of yours," Malfoy said softly, "just wait what you'll see." Malfoy glanced once more at the letter on the table before leaving, and tossed over his shoulder. "I certainly hope nothing _happened_ to your family. Who's going to take you in next?"

Clary and Jace exchanged looked with Harry, Ron, and Hermione. "How did he know that?" Clary asked at once. "How does he know about Idris and the Lightwoods?"

"How does he know about Valentine?" Jace added uncertainly. "The _Prophet_ just said we were his children, but how did he know all those things about our lives?"

"His family is in deep with You-Know-Who," Ron muttered. "He probably knows loads about you two since the Death Eaters were looking for you."

Jace frowned. "I don't like that he knows. I don't like that he just so recently found this all out and I can't figure out a damn thing about him."

Clary glanced back at the letter. "What about Idris? It wasn't even in the papers."

Hermione worried her lip, thinking, but the sound of the class bell echoed through the hall and they had to gather their things for class. Now, stuck in Transfiguration, Clary was desperate to get away and get her hands on the letter. Malfoy's remarks only made her more nervous for the Lightwoods, Luke, and Simon, but since McGonagall wasn't about to let them leave early she was trapped staring hungrily at the letter.

"I'm sure your family is fine," Hermione murmured.

"What if they're dead? What if Voldemort killed them and that's what Malfoy was bragging about?"

"If your family was hurt, Dumbledore would know," said Hermione with certainty.

That didn't necessarily assuage Clary's worries. Her interactions with Dumbledore in the past had not been always been the most encouraging: he kept his own council, and on more than one occasion, Clary had the impression Dumbledore was watching her and Jace struggle for his amusement. She knew he was working against Voldemort, that he was fighting the good fight, but she suspected her struggles with Valentine and the loss of her family weren't first and foremost on his mind.

"He might not want to tell Jace and I, especially because he thinks Jace takes bad news…well, badly."

Hermione smiled sympathetically, but quickly rearranged her face into something polite; Clary had a temper, and she didn't like people feeling bad for her. She settled for a brave look. "I think you might know if something had happened to your friends and families."

Clary thought about it. She thought about Simon, who had followed her everywhere, her best friend, possibly her most trusted companion. _He_ would know definitely know how she was, he wouldn't have to worry like this about her. She wondered, too, if Luke was thinking about her just then. Was he alright?

_Of course Luke is all right. He survived Valentine before, he can survive him again. _Clary almost tapped her wand against the desk again, but caught herself and placed it down flat for the rest of class.

"Now," said Professor McGonagall, flicking her wand and erasing the board. "We'll be performing human transfiguration in our next lesson. You must all read chapter twelve in your course book. Pay careful attention to the proper pronunciation. I don't think I need to remind you that you run quite a risk of being permanently transfigured from a poorly performed spell." Clary barely listened as she stuffed her things in her bag and waited anxiously for Jace to join her.

In the hall, Clary was at his side. "Do we have time between lessons to read the letter?"

Jace glanced at Harry who was muttering darkly to Ron about human Transfiguration, and was about to ask what he thought when Malfoy came swooping by, smirking all over his face. "Let's just go the library; it'll be quiet in there."

The group headed for the library in the swarm of students and slipped past Madam Pince, who cast them a beady-eyed look before vanishing into the shelves. Hermione led the way to a table that had a view of school grounds and tossed her Transfiguration book on the table. Clary jerked her chair out beside Jace.

"I _hate_ Malfoy," she spat, frustrated and tense and unable to vent any of it. Harry laughed appreciatively at Clary's temper. "If he had _just shut-up_ during breakfast I could already know how everyone is."

Jace flourished the piece of paper and spread it out on the table. It was written in a shaky hand: clearly, the author had been in a hurry.

"It's Alec's handwriting," Jace said, more to himself than anyone else before reading.

_Jace and Clary,_

_I'm sure you've heard already that Valentine captured Idris. I was there when the city fell with Luke. I don't know what happened to the other shadowhunters; I think Valentine is keeping them alive. If that's the case, he has our parents as well; Mom and Dad were in the city with the Penhollows._

_Isabelle, Max and I are fine. Your friend, Sirius, helped Luke and I out of the city before anyone spotted us. Valentine doesn't even know we're alive. We're in hiding now, but our warlock friend suggested I not mention it in the letter incase this letter is intercepted. Don't worry about us._

_I think you need to be especially careful, though, because Valentine has an army now, and you know him well enough to know he'll come after you. Don't do anything stupid-I know I tell you that all the time, and I know all the time you ignore me, but this time is different. Valentine has a lot of force behind him, and if he figures out where your school is, he'll come. _

_Clary-Luke is fine. He was with me when we went to Idris, and as soon as we got back to New York, he went to encourage the werewolves to go into hiding. He's a little concerned about this Voldemort warlock, but I think he's more concerned about Valentine. He mentioned getting your mother, and said you could write him. I think he'd like to hear from you. _

_Try to keep your wits about you for now and don't go losing your head over this. Maybe focus on that game you mentioned-the broomstick game. Max was pretty shocked when he saw the broom! Or, keep studying magic. I'm not a big fan, but…imagine how surprised Valentine will be when he sees you both with that. _

_Good luck. We'll be thinking of you there, I know you'll be thinking of here,_

_Alec, Isabelle, and Max._

"I'm writing Luke," said Clary, pushing the letter away. "He's alive, and I want to know he's okay."

Jace ran a finger over the letter. "If my parents are in Idris, Valentine is going to try and figure out what happened to us, and he'll go after them."

Harry glanced at Jace, measuring the emotion there, but, as usual, Jace's face was carefully constructed. "Your parents don't know where Hogwarts is."

Jace shot him a furious look. "So? He'll think they know and that they're just lying to him. Can you imagine what he'll do to them?"

"I can, actually," said Harry, thinking of Voldemort.

Jace breathed out, not really listening to Harry. "He won't kill them I don't think. He'll want to keep them alive since he could use them against us."

Clary worried her lip. "I hope Luke can get my mom. Valentine it going to be looking for her."

"He will," said Jace softly, turning his eyes on her. "He's not stupid."

"But what if Valentine tracks her down before Luke can get there?"

Jace leaned back. "Valentine is too busy with the Clave with right now to go searching all over New York. If Luke is half as smart as I think he is, he'll have come back from Idris and gone to get her immediately."

_Luke is far smarter than that, _Clary thought. "I'm still writing him. He'll want to know I'm okay and that Valentine hasn't tracked us down."

"Or that Voldemort hasn't begun his search for us in earnest," Jace mused. His fingers itched for a quill to send another letter to the Lightwoods, but he figured that owls constantly arriving at the same location might be a bit of a giveaway. Besides, he didn't have much to say, and Alec's recommendation that he keep his head down didn't exactly resonate with him. "Which reminds me, why, again, does Dumbledore think Voldemort cares about Idris?"

Harry started when Jace's yellow eyes turn on him, unnerved. "He'll have an interest no matter what; he doesn't want to risk your people rising up against him."

"Especially if they have an army of demons behind them," Jace muttered.

"Why he hasn't attacked yet, though, that's something," Harry mused. "It's been almost three weeks."

"Maybe the simplest solution is the right one?" Hermione guessed. "Maybe he already has."

Jace and Clary stared at her. "You think he was behind the attack to begin with?" Clary asked skeptically. "The demons, the Clave, preserving the shadowhunters…this is Valentine's work."

"No," said Hermione, "not like that. I mean that we keep asking where Voldemort is, what he's doing, why he hasn't attacked Idris…maybe he already has. Maybe he's in Idris right now and we just don't realize it."

"He'll be found out," said Jace simply, leaning back in his seat. "The city is full of shadowhunters, there's no way someone isn't going to notice the greatest dark wizard of all time strolling down the street."

"It's not like he's taking a walk down to the market," Ron muttered. "They'll be in disguise."

"Still, a wizard in the middle of Idris," Clary pressed. "It won't go unnoticed for long."

"It won't have to be for long," said Harry, starting to feel a little worried about this. "Just long enough to kill the right people."

Jace couldn't help himself. He started laughing. "Do you know how hard it will be to kill Valentine?"

Harry caught his eye. "I didn't say Valentine was the right person."

* * *

"How are you two coming along?" Remus asked around a forkful of chicken.

Nathaniel dragged his eyes up from his plate and looked down the table at Remus. A furious curse surged up his throat to his mouth, but the look of exhaustion on Remus' face held him in check. It was the eve of their transformation and neither of them was in any shape for an argument. "It's quiet out here.

"Yes," agreed Remus, who sensed Nathaniel's disquiet. "Yes, I've always found the distance from people rather peaceful given my affliction, but I suppose that for young people this must be quite lonely."

"Can we visit Mrs. Weasley soon?" Madeline piped up, eyes sparkling. "Please?"

Remus smiled kindly at her. "Well, Maddy, as it so happens, I've arranged for Tonks to come get you and take you to the Burrow for the night."

Madeline's eyes widened. "For the entire night?"

"Indeed," said Remus. "Mrs. Weasley is quite pleased. I hear she's made your favorite dessert."

Maddy's mouth opened in shock, and then snapped closed in a pleased smile. "How soon?"

"As soon as we finish dinner," Remus said amicably. In response, Madeline began scarfing food down; Remus watched her, amused. "So, Nathaniel, what have you been doing to keep yourself sane out here?"

"Exploring the woods," he said. "Your land is quite extensive."

"Yes," said Remus, looking out the window beyond Nathaniel's head. "I thought having more land might not be amiss. I take some pleasure in my solitude."

"I can imagine," Nathaniel said listlessly. He was thinking of the night to come and the inevitable transformation. The forest would certainly be different as a wolfwise.

This response, though, drew a tired chuckle from Remus. "There is a certain charm to it."

Nathaniel was surprised by the gentle teasing on Remus' part. He had been battling with the shame of being a werewolf since he'd been bitten. No one seemed to want to bring the subject up and around him, and as a result, Nathaniel had begun to feel isolated from other people. It was almost as if he had died and no one wanted to mention the fact. Now, hearing Remus make light of the situation caught Nathaniel totally by surprise. He glanced up, saw the sparkle in Remus' eye, and then smirked down at his food.

Madeline didn't seem to understand the tone of the conversation. "Nathan took me to the lake in the forest!"

"Did he?" Remus asked, smiling at her again. "A bit too cold for swimming I imagine."

"I couldn't see the bottom. Are there monsters in the lake?" she asked.

"Monsters?" Remus asked himself. "I suppose it might have a few mermaids. I can't imagine anything quite as large as the giant squid living in it."

Madeline thought back to the murky water. "Mermaids eat people."

"Well, Nathaniel and I will have to keep the mermaids away from you," Remus said encouragingly. "That is, if you ever want to swim."

"Can I meet the giant squid?" she asked. "The one who lives at Hogwarts?"

"I would think you might be able to."

Nathaniel perked up. "Are we going to visit the school soon?"

"Not immediately. As you know, Dumbledore was taking quick action to prevent both Lord Voldemort and Valentine from knowing where you and your sister might be, and coming to visit Hogwarts will certainly garner some attention. For now, it is best if the two of you remain tucked away."

"Hogwarts _is_ tucked away," Madeline complained. "No one knows where it is."

"Voldemort does," said Remus slowly. It wasn't that he wasn't sympathetic to the situation Madeline and Nathaniel were in-he understood the desire to escape-it was just that he trusted Dumbledore with children more than his own judgment. "I know it's hard to hear, Maddy, but you're safest away from all that."

_You're safest away from all that. My parents would never have told me that; they would have told me not to fear anything. To go chasing down anything and anyone who threatened me. _Madeline gripped her fork tighter. _But my parents aren't here. There's only me and Nathan, and anyone willing to take care of us. _It was a sobering thought, but it didn't bring her much pleasure. "Yes, sir."

"You can call me Remus," he said kindly, catching the misery in her voice.

"Remus," she amended softly.

After that, they ate dinner in relative silence. Madeline had nothing to say, and Nathaniel was still thinking of the full moon that would shortly be rising. He'd been taking wolfsbane for the last week, but even the bitter taste hadn't prepared him for the inevitable. When they had finished, Madeline offered to clear the plates and Nathaniel to clean, but Remus merely flicked his wand and the plates flew to the sink and began washing themselves.

"Maddy, why don't you go pack an overnight bag?" he suggested gently. "Takes clothes for an extra day. I might not be able to come retrieve you tomorrow afternoon if something comes up."

Nathaniel guessed that the _something coming up_ would be severe exhaustion and soreness from spending the night as a wolf, but he didn't see the need to explain this to his sister, and urged her on with a passive smile.

As Madeline left for the other room and her makeshift bed, Remus turned to Nathaniel. "You've been taking your potion each night, yes?"

"Yes," he sighed, drumming his fingers on the table. "It tastes awful."

"I imagine a number of werewolves would pay good money to the person who finds a way to make it a bit more palatable," he chuckled. "But until the time comes when someone cares for werewolves, it'll be as it is."

Nathaniel glanced out the window. "Is Tonks going to be here soon? I'd like Maddy to leave before things get a little out of hand."

"She said she'd be here at exactly half past six." He glanced to the clock, which read six twenty-five and clapped his hands together. "There will be plenty of time for that, don't worry."

Nathaniel got up and walked across the kitchen to so he could look out the window at the forest. "She knows I'm a werewolf, but it somehow doesn't matter. I don't want her to see me."

Remus breathed out slowly. "You are fortunate, Nathan, that your family is willing to accept your condition. Often, in our world, a werewolf is ostracized from society, abandoned by family and friends."

Nathaniel clutched the sink tightly, bowed his head. "It's even worse for a shadowhunter...sometimes, I think Maddy deserves better than me."

Remus wanted to reassure Nathaniel that what he said wasn't true and that it didn't matter that he was a werewolf, he was still a good person, but he doubted that Nathaniel wanted to hear it from him. "You're her brother, Nathan, that's all that matters to her."

"Because she has no one better," he said, and spun around to face Remus. "Look at what we've become! We had to flee the Institute, go into hiding with warlocks, because I couldn't protect her. I can never go back to the Clave, and because I can't, Maddy refuses to. Our life is in pieces because of me."

"Your life is this way because of Lord Voldemort," said Remus passionately. "His servants attacked the Institute, his servants killed your parents, and his servants made you a werewolf." He rose up from the table, walking around it, but not drawing much closer to Nathaniel. "You aren't guilty of these things. You're a young man whose life was transformed by a war, a survival of unimaginable hatred and malice. When will you stop blaming yourself for this?"

_When it's not my fault anymore. _"When Maddy is happy."

Before Remus could answer, though, a small voice came from the living room door. "I am happy, Nathan."

Nathaniel and Remus turned to find Madeline silhouetted in the door, behind her, Tonks. She was looking up at her brother with the strangest expression: disapproval. Her lips were pouted ever so slightly, her hands clenched into small fists, her eyes gleaming. She looked between the two frowning.

"I'm happy with the Weasleys and I'm happy with you, so don't use me as an excuse."

It was such a mature thing to say that both Nathanial and Remus were drawn up short. Remus looked up, shocked to see Tonks wearing the same expression with the same knowing look in her eyes. He knew how she felt, knew she was just as ready to start arguing as Madeline, but she'd have a few choice words for him. He couldn't hold her gaze and looked away toward Nathaniel.

"Nathaniel knows your happy, Maddy," said Tonks, picking the girl up and holding her against her hip. "Sometimes, boys need to be a little dramatic with their lives." This was enough to make Madeline smile, enough to make Nathaniel relax. "Sometimes, they just need a moment of self-pity. But, not you and I, we're always ready for what's next, aren't we?"

"Yes," she said, flashing Tonks and her soft brown hair a smile.

"Well, say goodbye to Nathan and Mr. Remus. They have some work to do," she said with a faint grin on her lips.

Madeline glanced at her brother, hunched against the kitchen counter. "Have fun, Nathan."

"Don't eat too much, Maddy," he said, offering her his crooked smile. "We can't afford to buy you _another_ new wardrobe."

Madeline stuck her tongue out. "Mrs. Weasley will fix it for me."

"Now, that's more like it. Brothers and sisters as they should be." Tonks flicked her wand behind her and Madeline's luggage floated past her. She tipped her head at Remus. "I'll see you at the next meeting, Remus. Good evening."

"Always a pleasure Tonks," he said, avoiding her glowing eyes.

Nathaniel watched Tonks take his sister from the house, walk across the front lawn, turn on the spot, and vanish. It was the six thirty-one and the sun was setting below the tree line, setting the tips aflame. A gentle wind rustled the tree leaves and the scent of winter came with it. Nathaniel shivered.

"Shall we head out?"

* * *

"Hug the wall, Max."

_Hug the wall? _Max thought, looking up at his sister. _What a stupid thing to say. You can't actually hug a wall._

As if she sensed what he was thinking, Isabelle pushed Max flat against the cold cinder block wall. "If you're too far away from the wall anyone can see you. You want the element of surprise, don't you?"

"Do I?" Max asked, almost letting his temper creep into his voice.

"You're not a good enough fighter to just announce yourself to your enemies, Max. That's something Jace would do, I know, but it's not something I'm teaching you." Isabelle glanced down at Max, saw that his face was carefully blank at the mention of Jace, and then sighed. "I know you miss him, I do too, but he's not coming back anytime soon. Besides, it's exactly what Jace would tell you to do."

Max relaxed a little and let himself adjust to his new position along the wall. "Is there anyone over there?"

Isabelle had been listening closely to the sound of voices coming from the other side of the wall. It sounded like the normal talk between Downworlders, maybe a little more nervous given the news of Valentine's victory, but nothing that sounded distinctly worrisome.

"Yes, but it's just a few fairies," said Isabelle. "Nothing we should be worried about."

"How can you tell its fairies?" Max asked curiously.

"You can smell it," Isabelle answered shortly. The tone of the conversation had changed and she was keen to hear if there was any news of Idris.

"…lying low for now, but it'll only be a matter of time before Morgenstern sends out hunting parties. He'll be coming for us."

"He'll be coming for _everyone_," said the other. "And it won't really be hard to hide, will it? I mean, the man's trying to track down every Downworlder on the planet and we're in a city of how many?" The fairy laughed dismissively. "It hardly matters. You heard the Queen; she wants us all going home. By the end of the month, we'll all have gone underground."

"Maybe you're right, but I don't like risks," the first one said. "And, apparently, neither does Lucian Greymark. Everyone's talking about how he already had his pack go into hiding."

"Lucian's an old acquaintance of Morgenstern's-everyone knows that. Morgenstern wants him dead."

"Still, I might consider taking a leaf out of his book if it means I'll be that much more alive the next day," his friend responded smartly. "No one is safe, sounds like."

Suddenly, both fairies laughed. It echoed along the ally Isabelle and Max were hiding in and made the hair on the nape of her neck stand up. "It's a nice change, though, isn't it? To have those damn Nephilim on the run for once?"

"He's tracking down the stragglers I hear," said the other fairy. "Bringing them home, they say."

"With their tails between their legs, it gives us a bit of time for fun, doesn't it? They're either on the run or in hiding." They chuckled again, united in their dislike of shadowhunters at least. "Let them tear each other apart, I say. Makes my life easier."

Isabelle hissed. She didn't like the sound of shadowhunters hunting shadowhunters. Carefully, she reached behind her and brushed Max's shoulder, as if reminding herself that he was there. He didn't seem to respond to her touch, and instead, inched closer to the edge of the building. Unfortunately, Max's overzealous nature brought his feet into contact with an empty soda can. The can rocketed forward and bounced along the sidewalk.

Isabelle cursed under her breath as the two fairies watched the can and then switched their gaze up to the ally. "Max," Isabelle said in an even voice, "stay back."

"Who's there?" hissed one of the fairies.

"Don't worry about it," said Isabelle, stepping out from the wall, looking as confidante and collected as ever. "Worry about getting out of here before Valentine Morgenstern's search party catches up with you."

The fairies, clearly caught off guard by a striking woman well informed of Valentine's movements, stared at her a moment. "Just who the hell are you?"

Isabelle smiled in a slight challenge, hoping to dissuade them from coming any closer to her or the hiding Max. "It doesn't matter. All that matters is what I heard you saying and who I might tell."

The fairies blank faces turned to snarls. "What you heard?"

"Going underground," said Isabelle, speaking loudly and clearly, like they were slow. "I think Valentine will be interested to know about _that_."

One the fairy's ears flicked forward then backward, quivering slightly. "He can know, it won't make any difference to us. You think he'll launch an attack on a city with only one entrance?"

"He attacked the Bone City," Isabelle pointed out unhelpfully, recalling the sight of the city when Valentine had finished with it. "And that was just for a sword. What do you think he'll do if it means you're all huddled up down there in the mud like pigs for the slaughter?"

The other fairy hissed-literally-as its snake tongue shot out. "Why are you telling us this?"

Carefully, doing her best to keep her hand near her hip and her daggers, she rolled up her right sleeve so the fairies could clearly see her runes. "I'm as interested in steering clear of Valentine as you."

"No kidding," one said, studying the rune closely. "Unless…you don't have to hide from him. Unless you're already working for him."

_Damn it, _Isabelle thought, snapping her whip out. The fairies recoiled. "I'd prefer if we didn't have to do this."

"Sorry, but, like you said, we're quite interested in steering clear of Valentine, and since most shadowhunters work for him…just have to be careful."

A moment of silence hung between Isabelle and the fairies, and then one of them lunged at her. Isabelle responded out of instinct, her whip slicing the air and curling around the fairy's leg. She jerked her arm and the entangled attacker crashed to the ground, landing unpleasantly hard, head first. The other one, watching his fellow fall, faltered between attacking and running; after a moment of indecision, he turned to flee. Isabelle hesitated only a moment, debating whether to let him run, but she knew that if he ran, he'd tell the first fairy he met what had happened. Isabelle's dagger flew through the air and lodged itself between the shoulder blades of the fairy. A strangled cry escaped its lips as he tumbled to the ground and rolled over his feet, and came to what appeared to be a very final stop.

Isabelle approached the other fairy who seemed to have given himself a concussion upon landing hard on the ground. She stood over him, watching his strange greenish blue hair rustle in the wind, looking like seaweed. For a moment, she recalled crashing into the water when she fell off Valentine's boat and watched the seaweed come up to meet her, entangle her…and then two, eerily glowing hands pull her out of the water.

The fairies had saved them that day. True, they had come at Magnus' request, but they'd still come.

_If you let him live, he'll go back to the Seelie Queen and tell her what he saw. She'll know who you are, and she'd sell you to Valentine or Voldemort faster than you can blink. _Isabelle cringed. _But he didn't break any laws, he wouldn't have attacked you if he hadn't seen you._

"Izzy?" Max had come out from behind the wall, having watched the entire thing and was shocked by the ferocity of the fairies.

"Stay there, Max!" Isabelle snapped, not sure why she felt suddenly so furious. It wasn't Max's fault she was in this predicament. "Don't come closer."

Max fell back, holding onto the wall, watching his sister.

_If Valentine finds you, he finds Max. _Isabelle removed a dagger from her belt and held it tightly. It wasn't like she had never killed a fairy. _Your brothers aren't safe, and didn't you swear after Jace was taken you'd protect them? Someone has to._

"Someone has to," she whispered to herself as she knelt over the unconscious fairy.

Max, who was watching Isabelle in an almost dream state saw her kneel over the fairy. He saw the light glance off the dagger. He saw her lower it, but then he closed his eyes. Whatever was going to happen, Max was quite sure he didn't want to see any more. Not then. When he opened his eyes again, Isabelle was standing before him, her face set grimly. She turned him around and pushed him toward the ally and the shadows wordlessly.

He turned, but as he did, he glimpsed the prostrate fairy, something dark and gleaming pooled sluggishly around his head.


	4. An Avalanche Begun

An Avalanche Begun

_Fair warning, tastes like Goblin piss…Just trying to diffuse the tension_

_-Mad Eye Moody_

_Feet slapping on the pavement, heart in his throat, and blood pounding in his ears, Max hurtled down the street, clinging desperately to the shadows cast by the towering buildings of New York. Behind him, he heard a strangled cry and a snarl. He pushed himself faster, trying-and failing-to not gasp for breath._

"_Isabelle! Isabelle, wait for me!"_

_She didn't answer and Max frantically looked down the alleys he was passing, looking for the telltale sign of Isabelle: her long shadow, her swishing hair, even the scent of vanilla that always hung in the air around her. But she wasn't there…she was nowhere._

"_Izzy, wait!"_

_Closer this time, something furious echoed down the alley and Max stumbled over a lip in the pavement. He crashed to the ground, scraping his hands on the way down and yelping loudly. For a moment, the sounds of his pursuer were silenced, then they picked up again, this time more insistent._

"_Izzy!" Max called, scrambling back up onto his feet and, hoping to throw off his pursuer, turned down the first open street._

_Max skidded to a halt, looking down the length of the road he had selected, confused. There was a figure there, crumpled on the ground, illuminated in a flickering street light. Glancing back over his shoulder at the direction of his attacker, Max drew a few steps closer. His stomach turned and his vision went blurry for a moment as the scene came back to Max…it was so familiar…_

"_Izzy," he whispered, afraid of alerting the others. "Izzy, come on."_

_No one answered him as he moved closer and closer to the body, and Max considered just turning and running away. He was wasting precious time, after all…but for some reason he couldn't turn away. He had to see this person, look on their face._

Fairy face, _Max thought, recalling the night before. _It was a fairy who attacked us.

_Max had drawn level with the corpse. Its legs were bent at odd angles, its arms splayed wide, and its head was turned so its long, dark hair covered its face. Max sank down beside the figure and his knees landed in something wet. He looked down and saw the pool of blood, glistening in the light and recoiled, disgusted._

"_Izzy," Max said, a little louder this time. "Iz, we have to go."_

_No one answered him and Max could taste something metallic in his mouth, but there was silence all around him now. He was completely alone. The loneliness, though, instilled in Max a new sense of strength; if he was as alone as he felt then, then he could do as he pleased. Steeling his nerves and reached out to touch the face of the fairy who had threatened him and Isabelle. He wanted to look down on the corpse the same way Isabelle had that night. He wanted to be as fearless as she had been._

_He slipped his fingers through the strands of tangled hair and felt his fingertips brush the cheek. It was still warm. With some effort, Max pushed the face to the other side and brushed the hair aside. _

_A horrified screech burst from Max as he looked down, not on the fairy, but on Isabelle instead. Her unseeing eyes stared up at the street light, her purple lips were parted in a cry, and across her throat was a jagged gash. Max fell backward and crawled away, cursing every curse he had ever heard his siblings say._

"_A tragedy, to lose a loved one."_

_Max snapped around. The silence, the solitude, of the street was broken by the appearance of a person. They were dressed in a thick, black cloak that seemed so out of place on a dingy road in New York. They were a good distance away, but their voice carried clear to Max: it was soft, silken, and accompanied by a low laugh. Max could feel his heart trying to break out of his ribcage, but he couldn't move. He couldn't leave Isabelle._

"_It is the way of war, though, isn't it? Some must be lost." The cloaked figure drew a few steps closer. "Not always those we expect, but then…this is no surprise."_

_Max's fingers struggled for a purchase on something, anything to hold that might make him feel safer. A few feet away, Isabelle's body gleamed palest white in the night and Max considered-childishly, almost-trying to wake her._

"_A shadowhunter is a warrior, and warriors die in battle. It is the way of the world, yes? We shall live and shadowhunters shall die." The cloaked man laughed. "_How_ they die, however, is their choice. Some die bravely, some die cowardly, some foolishly, some wisely; others die for a cause, others die for nothing, and some…some die for love."_

_Max managed to unstick his teeth. "My sister didn't die for nothing!"_

"_Oh, no?" The figure had stopped, and Max had the distinct impression that he was sizing Max up. Slowly, the attention of the man turned to Isabelle's body. After a moment, he spoke. "I think you're right, young man. I think your sister died for a reason. I think your sister died for revenge."_

_Max frowned. "You-you killed her."_

"_Not I," chuckled the man. "I would not debase myself, I would not succumb to such…barbarism. There is elegance in death. This was no graceful way to die."_

"_Someone killed her."_

"_Someone did. And they killed her for revenge." For some reason, this seemed to amuse the man, and as he began to approach Max, he laughed all the more. "She made someone angry, isn't that always the case? And that someone sought revenge." He paused. "An avalanche, that's what it is."_

_Max scurried away but his back brushed a wall. He watched as the man drew level with him, rotated his wrist so as to reveal a willowy, black wand. Max swallowed cry; he wouldn't die like a coward. "An avalanche is beginning. It's too late for the pebbles to speak." _

_If it was going to be the last thing Max heard, he was going to remember it. He closed his eyes and tried to think of something nice-his family, together again. He heard the swish of fabric and something slicing the air. His face was warmed by a sudden burst of heat-_

-and he woke up, drenched in sweat.

"Are you alright, Max?" Alec was standing over him, his eyes wide. Max sat up, trying to control his heartbeat, hoping his brother didn't see the sweat on his face. "You were gasping in your sleep."

"I-I'm fine." Max glanced behind Alec into the light of the door, but there was no one behind. "Where's Isabelle?"

Alec made a face. "She's gone, Max."

Max's stomach dropped out and he clenched the blankets gathered around his waist. Was the dream not a dream? Was real life bleeding into his sleep? "Gone?"

Alec sat down on the side of bed. "Yeah, she's snuck off to see her vampire."

Max slumped back. "Oh."

"What do you want her for?" Alec asked gently. It didn't really hurt his feelings that Max wanted Isabelle. How could it when he had been away so often?

Max looked away. "It was nothing."

"It wasn't nothing, Max," Alec continued, trying his best not to undermine his feelings. "Whatever you saw…Magnus told me that Downworlders-and sometimes shadowhunters-have premonitions, visions of the future. They're hard to understand, it usually takes an expert who can read the dream, but they're not always just dreams."

"It was a dream," said Max with certainty.

Alec didn't push the subject with him, suspecting that he didn't want to seem weak. Alec shook his head. "Well, since you're awake, I'm making breakfast. Pancakes."

"Sounds good," said Max, managing a smile and pushing the blankets off his bed.

Alec stood and headed for the door. "I'd hurry, though. Magnus was eyeing those pancakes like Isabelle and a guy at the bar."

Max watched Alec leave and head for the kitchen, and he sank back on the bed. The memories of the nightmare seemed to hang around him like a dense fog. The sight of Isabelle's dead body, drenched in blood, passed before his eyes and he cringed. If it was a vision…if what he had seen was real…how could it be?

_And what did he say?_

The avalanche has begun, it's too late for the pebbles to speak.

Max felt his stomach turn and he worried his lip. He didn't understand it, but that didn't make him feel any better about it.

* * *

"How have you been?" Isabelle asked, clutching her cup of black coffee tightly between her hands. The heat radiated into her fingers and palms, but it didn't travel much farther. Since her murder of the fairy two night before, she'd been distinctly chilled. "How's everything going with, well…vampirism?"

Simon smiled faintly. "The sun is a nice change, but, I'll admit, life is a little boring without all the shadowhunter business."

Isabelle pursed her lips in a seductive look that was more at place in a night club than the café they were currently sitting in. "Don't put all your eggs in a basket quite yet. You heard about Valentine?"

"Everyone's heard," Simon sighed. "It's all anyone talks about. Valentine. Shadowhunters. The upcoming genocide of all Downworlders. It's getting a little boring."

"It won't be soon," Isabelle warned, thinking of the fairy again. "It's only going to take a month at most for Valentine to get the Clave together, and once he does, he'll be coming for you. I mean, he might not kill you outright since you and Clary are friends, but I wouldn't count on him holding out too long."

Simon smirked. "Thanks, Izzy."

"Thought you'd be interested is all."

"Well, speaking of Clary, how is she doing?"

Isabelle reached into the pocket of her jeans and removed the letter, only a little bitter Simon was more interested in the letter than her. "They're doing as well as could be expected."

Simon took the letter and unrolled it. He smiled faintly at Clary's handwriting and the picture of her and Jace with a number of happy looking students. "I'm not thinking they took the news about Idris well."

"Probably," Isabelle shrugged. "But they're probably the only ones at that school who cares. All anyone cares about there, apparently, is that Voldemort guy."

"What's going on with him?" Simon asked, looking up from the letter. "I haven't heard a single thing-"

"And you won't," said Isabelle shortly. "It seems he laying low for the time being."

"Laying low?" Simon raised his eyebrows. "I thought he was the-the greatest evil wizard of all time? Is that what they call him?"

"Not a whisper of him," Isabelle said. "I don't get it, either."

The thought of Voldemort hadn't been with Isabelle much since the fall of Idris, but when she bothered to dedicate time to it, it didn't make any sense. The disarray of the Clave should have been Voldemort's chance to attack, but nothing had come of it since.

"Maybe he's not interested in the Clave?" Isabelle suggested.

"Doubt it," Simon said. "Those people were pretty positive he was coming for the Clave. That's why they took Clary and Jace."

"Then why haven't we heard of him?" Isabelle pushed.

"He's not an idiot," Simon said slowly. "Maybe it serves his purposes better to wait?"

"Wait for what?" Isabelle said sharply, annoyed. The last thing she wanted right then was to discuss the movements of some warlock who was too scared to attack. "He'll be dead in a few months anyway. Valentine isn't going to let him live."

Simon wanted to push the subject further, a little concerned about the shadow of a threat, but Isabelle didn't look in the mood for it. "You're probably right."

Isabelle said back in her seat and tapped her finger on the lid of her cup. "Obviously. So, how has blood been treating you? Sampled some…fresh product yet?"

Simon would have blushed if he could. "That's illegal."

"Says who? The nonexistent Clave?" Isabelle laughed in her throat. "Besides, there are people who are willing to donate to your cause."

"I'm not really interested in something like that," Simon said, looking away. The thought of Jace's blood in his mouth made him sick. "I'll stick to whatever Magnus can get me."

Isabelle grinned broadly. "Let me know if you have second thoughts about fresh blood. I hear it's almost like being high."

"You _would_ be interested in that," Simon said, rolling his eyes. "How is Magnus' apartment?"

"Ugh," Isabelle sighed. "You got a spare room for me?"

"Sorry, I think my mom has pretty strict rules for potentially lethal woman staying at my place." Simon chuckled. "If I move into my own place, I'll let you know."

"It's like being in prison!" Isabelle spat. "I'm only allowed to leave once a day, and that's just to run surveillance and look for survivors from Idris. Plus, I'm supposed to be helping train Max, and that just…" Isabelle temper seemed to vanish, and Simon frowned.

"Just what?"

Isabelle looked out the window at the city street. She saw people walking by and wondered if they were Downworlders if they were looking for her. "It's just a pain to work and have him following me. I don't want to be his role model."

"I thought Jace was," Simon muttered.

"He was, but I feel like when Jace left, Max was hurt." Isabelle didn't want to admit that she was hurt too. "Anyway, he's been looking to me now, and I'm not good at it."

"How can you not be?" Simon asked, reached across the table and taking one of her hands. While he didn't necessarily think that young boys should aspire to be soldiers, Isabelle looked miserable. "You're an excellent shadowhunter."

"I'm a shadowhunter," Isabelle corrected. "And sometimes, shadowhunters have to do things that maybe I don't want my little brother seeing me do."

"Isabelle…are you alright?" Simon tried to catch her eye, but Isabelle refused to look at him. He wasn't foolish enough, though, to think Isabelle was avoiding him by accident.

"I am fine," she said slowly and clearly. "I just don't like having people watching me while I take care of business."

Simon doubted that, Isabelle had never balked at his presence while she worked. "What did Max see?"

"Nothing," said Isabelle, taking a long draw on her coffee. She looked around at the other customers, some of whom were watching here. "Listen, can we leave? I don't like people watching me."

Simon glanced around; no one seemed to be looking at them then, but Isabelle was sure to draw attention. He stood and gestured out the door; they left and entered the chilly air of the city. For a while, they walked in silence, sipping their coffee, but Simon was watching Isabelle closely, and she seemed uncomfortable. After some time, Isabelle heaved a big sigh, realizing that of all the people she could talk to, Simon would be the best.

"Simon, can you not mention this to Alec?" she asked softly.

"Whatever you want," he said nonchalantly.

"I killed someone," she said bluntly. When Simon stared at her, she rolled her eyes. "I killed two fairies two nights ago. They weren't exactly a _threat_, but…well, they were going to the Seelie Queen about me, and word would have gotten back to Valentine." When Simon continued to watch her, Isabelle threw her cup away spitefully. "I don't need to explain myself to you."

"Izzy, that's not-"

"You know, Simon, I don't know why I thought you'd be different," she said ruefully. She had stopped and her face was flushed angrily. "_You're_ a Downworlder. You just don't understand."

"I want to understand," he said quickly.

"It's impossible. You were a Mundane before, and you're a vampire now. You can't possibly begin to know what it's like to be a shadowhunter." Isabelle turned away from him even as Simon reached out for her arm. "I don't care what you think anyway."

"I'm not judging you, I just-"

"Just go away, Simon," said Isabelle with a slick smile. "You wouldn't understand war anyway."

"That's not it-"

Isabelle laughed bitterly. "Then it's your Mundane childishness. Either way, with what's to come, you need to grow up fast."

_What's to come? _Simon wondered as Isabelle smirked and turned on her heel. _Just what _is_ to come? Valentine? Voldemort? What'll be left when they're all done?_

* * *

"You're doing it wrong," Harry said loudly, watching Jace move his wand through the air in a lazy loop. "And if you give me your nose I'll-"

"Be remarkably more successful with the ladies?" Jace finished. "It couldn't hurt for you to get my nose, too, and my hair. In fact, you'd be a lot better off if you just looked like me."

"Let's do it, alright?" Harry said sharply, tired and frustrated with the class. "Let's you and I switch roles and you can deal with Voldemort and I'll play around with all the shadowhunters. Sound good?"

Jace looked up, catching Harry's eyes and saw how strained the other boy was. It seemed this was always the way life at Hogwarts was. There were rushes and lulls in action, bursts of excitement and then nothing; this appeared to be one of the times when exhilaration was in the air.

"Something you want to talk about?" Jace asked, lowering his wand.

Harry looked at the other boy. He looked like his usual, rascally self, maybe a little relieved now that he had heard from the Lightwoods. "Not really."

Jace smirked in the same way he would have at Alec when he was teasing him. "Are you having…_man _troubles?"

"Oh, shut it," Harry said, but Jace had succeeded in working a smile out of him. He had, in fact, been thinking about Ginny just the other night, and it had been troubling him for some time. "You know, or you should know, exactly what's on my mind."

"Quidditch?"

"Jace," Harry said in a low voice, but before he could press on, Professor McGonagall drew near them, and Harry snapped his mouth shut. Her sharp eyes missed nothing.

"Mr. Potter, Mr. Lightwood, do you really think you're accomplished enough to be performing this caliber of spell silently?"

"I wouldn't dream of robbing the world of any of my charming mannerisms," said Jace seriously.

"Just robbing us of your wand work, then?" Professor McGonagall asked.

Jace smiled charmingly, but aside from Maryse Lightwood, Professor McGonagall was the only person whom he wouldn't toy with. "I certainly wouldn't want to do that."

"I quite agree. Mr. Potter, would you care to demonstrate to Mr. Lightwood?"

Harry composed himself, catching Jace's eye before beginning. He flicked his wand in as best an imitation as he had seen Hermione do and pointed at Jace's eyebrows. Jace only cringed a little as he felt a strange warmth rush over his face, like someone had poured hot chocolate syrup over his head.

"What have you done now?" Jace asked, prodding his face carefully.

"I think it looks good," Harry said indifferently.

Jace glanced around the room, looking for Clary. He saw her a few partners away with Ron, watching him skeptically while he twisted his wand in the air. "We still on for tonight, Clary?"

As he expected, the entire room turned to attention, Clary blushing faintly. She eyed Jace, whose eyebrows had shifted from golden to blue. "So long as it's dark enough I can't see your face."

Jace looked affronted. "It's a national treasure."

"Currently defaced," Clary returned, smiling. Jace turned back to Harry and Clary performed an elegant twirl of her wand, pointing it at Ron. "Sorry for whatever I do to you," she said in advance.

"Just try not to hit my face with that," Ron muttered, watching Clary nervously.

She flicked her wand elegantly and Ron stumbled backward, hit by the spell. When he recovered, the famous Weasley red hair was black as a Lightwood. It made his face distinctly pale and his eyes look watery and small. Ron pulled a lock of hair from his head and stared at it a moment.

"Don't you look dashing?" Clary asked, laughing into her hand. A few pairs away, Lavender Brown broke into a fit of noticeable giggles

Ron smiled faintly at the sound of Lavender. "We'll see whose most dashing once I turn your hair green."

"Jace might not like that," Clary observed, glancing over at Jace whose eyebrows were still obstinately blue. "Then again, he seems to have a few fashion troubles of his own."

"Well, you've proved you can do it. Now fix me," Ron said crossly, pointing to his hair.

"Not like you've got a date to impress," Harry called across the room. Ron scowled as Harry and Jace, now both transfigured, gestured again at his hair.

"Come on, Clary."

"I thought you'd like to not be a red head for one. I sure would." Clary pulled a hank of her hair down and flicked the curl. "Besides, I'm not sure if I can change you back."

"Stop messing around." Ron could still see Harry laughing in the corner of the room and he longed to throw something at him. "Or at least transfigure something in a rubber band do I can shoot it at Harry."

"Leave a little for Voldemort," Clary snickered. Her response was met with horrified looks from the people near them, Lavender especially was gaping at the mention of the wizard. Clary clicked her tongue. "It was a joke," she said sheepishly to Ron.

"Not for people around here," Ron said waving a few lingering looks away. "It's sorta like making a joke about that Valentine fellow."

"I make fun of him all the time," Clary said indifferently. "If you treat people like him seriously all the time, you start to think it's all true."

Ron shook his head. "You shadowhunters." He didn't think he'd ever met a group of people before who were so headstrong and careless with their lives-except maybe Fred and George. "Right, well, it's your turn, so stand still and hope I don't hit you in the eye."

"You certainly know how to keep confidence up, don't you?"

Ron decided not to bother answering Clary and instead focused on casting the spell correctly. He twisted the wand in the air, watched Clary take a step when the spell hit her, and then watched as her curly red hair grew out longer and longer, down her back and touched her thighs. Additionally, it had turned cotton candy pink expect for the tips which remained red as ever.

Clary lifted her hair up and pulled it through her hands until she reached the ends. She looked up slowly at Ron and he smiled widely. "I think it looks nice."

"No wonder you can never find a girl. You want to date a fairy," Clary said, pointing at her hair. "Seriously, you should be trolling in the Seelie Court."

Ron didn't know what the Seelie Court was, but he laughed all the same. "I'll keep that in mind next time I'm looking for a hot date."

"But you're not actually, right? Because I don't think my eyes could take that." Jace and Harry had come over, having successfully transfigured each other and were smiling all over at the sight of Ron and Clary's hair. Jace was eyeing Ron. "Is it possible for the brain to vomit?"

"I'm about to really vomit," Ron returned, regarding Jace's blue eyebrows.

"Congratulations." Professor McGonagall had joined them and was studying their variously altered appearances. "Now, just turn each other back and you're free to leave." At that moment, Hermione breezed by, her face looking just as normal as ever. McGonagall tipped her head. "You're excused Ms. Granger. Good work."

Hermione winked at the other. "See you for lunch."

Clary turned a sharp look on Ron as Hermione left. "You better be able to fix me."

"Go first," he said, hoping to glean a few pointers from Clary's performance.

Under the careful eye of Professor McGonagall, Clary executed the charm. Her expression was uncertain, but the outcome was a pleasant surprise. Ron's hair reverted back to red in a heartbeat, bouncing slightly by the force of the spell. Ron checked it carefully before facing Clary. Clary felt a rush of warm air and wondered if, for a moment, Ron had summoned a summer storm instead of fixing her hair. However, when she opened her eyes, the weight of her hair bounced on her shoulders. She plucked up a strand and saw it was as red as before.

Satisfied with their performance, Professor McGonagall pointed to the door. "On your way."

While Clary packed up her things, she watched as Harry and Jace went through the process of changing each other back. Harry seemed confident in his spellwork, and though Jace's eyebrows seemed to be tipped with blue, Professor McGonagall assured him it would fade with time and they were free to leave.

In the hall, Clary walked between Harry and Jace. "Plans tonight?"

"Dumbledore mentioned something," Harry said indifferently. Clary noticed that his eyes, which Jace had turned orange, where still flecked with yellow now. "Probably more memories."

"Anything about Idris?"

"Not that I know, but if he's doing research, then he's not likely to be telling me all about the books he's just read, is he?"

Jace frowned, scratched his blue eyebrows, and said, "I'd be willing to help."

"He knows, but since you can only tell him what he already knows, it won't be much help, will it?"

Jace thought of Valentine and the Mortal Instruments. "The Mirror is out there somewhere and Valentine knows it. I'm sure even now, he's trying to track it down."

"Harry shrugged. "I think he's got more important things to worry about."

* * *

"Now, Aldertree, you and I have had quite a few conversations these past weeks, and I have appreciated your honesty."

"Well, I would never dream of lying to you."

The irony was not lost on either Valentine or Aldertree, as Valentine had marked him with an obedience rune and he had no choice. "I'm glad to hear it, as recent events had brought some information to my attention."

"Oh?" Aldertree managed to sit up a little straighter though the chains that clung to his wrists rattled and strained.

"I'm surprised you-nor any of the other Clave senior members-never thought to mention the existence of a particular sect of warlocks," said Valentine evenly, watching the other man's face closely.

Aldertree smiled, but it turned into a grimace. "I'm surprised, given your extensive knowledge of all things near and far of Idris, that you never thought to do any research into the Downworlder community. Did you think we were alone?" He laughed hoarsely, enjoying the glimmer in Valentine's eyes. "The world's a strange place, yes?"

"How long have you known?" Valentine said in soft voice, betraying none of his anger.

"Choice members of the Clave have always known," Aldertree said with a note of superiority. "How could we not?"

"And why did you choose to keep that information from the rest of us?"

"We didn't," Aldertree sniggered. "The knowledge of these warlocks was always available to those who bothered to look. You were so caught up in yourself and your rebellion that you simply failed to notice what was right in front of you."

Valentine's lips curled. "Where are they?" he hissed. "Tell me where these warlocks are."

"I don't know," Aldertree said slowly. "They're everywhere, but no one knows."

"That's not possible," Valentine said, trying to stop himself from shaking Aldertree. "You know them-"

"I know _of_ them," Aldertree said over Valentine. "We've had contact occasionally, but never anything substantial. What do you want with them?"

"I want them dead," answered Valentine, as if they should have been obvious.

"Good luck," chuckled Aldertree, coughing up a little blood. "You could try to find them, but I imagine they would hide, and…well, they've got their own problems-the way I hear it."

"They don't know what a problem is," Valentine said in a low voice. "Not yet."

Aldertree laughed again, hoarse and raw. "Tell them that, and see how they take it."

Valentine snarled under his breath. He had thought that Aldertree would have been a bit more forthcoming with his information about the infamous warlocks, but the man seemed just as stubborn as before. Valentine decided that a few days with Jonathan might break his resolve.

"When I find them, I most certainly will." Valentine turned to leave Aldertree slumped in his cell. "You will see what work I make of them."

"Perhaps," Aldertree sighed, staring at Valentine's back, seeing the slightest tension in his shoulders. As far as Aldertree was concerned, the future was perilous: Valentine in control of the Clave, the shadow of the evil warlock lurking just out of sight. He didn't know which way to spring just yet, but he was certain that should it come to it, he'd prefer Valentine to Voldemort. "Might I make one recommendation as you begin your search?" Valentine continued to unlock the cell, but he did so quietly that Aldertree knew he was listening. "Voldemort."

"Ridiculous," Valentine muttered. "A true warlock name."

"Indeed," Aldertree said softly. "A true warlock name for a true warlock."

* * *

Alecto, disguised as one of the unfortunate shadowhunters who died in the sack of the London Institute, turned on his heel and moved off from the Gard. He had been milling about, close to the cell where Aldertree and Valentine had been speaking, close enough to use a Super Sensory charm to listen to the conversation.

As he moved off, he encountered another shadowhunter, a guard who watched over the prisoners in the Gard. He tipped his head in a display of something timid and made sure to present his wrist so that the shadowhunter could see the Obediance rune he had artfully added to his transformation with a trick of his wand. The soldier nodded stiffly, a haughty look in his eye, and returned his attention to his post. Alecto smirked as he walked away.

"Quite a way to find the city," Alecto said as soon as he found his sister dallying on the bridge. She slunk closer to him, the two pretending to be lovers of some sort. They passed a group of young shadowhunters, rubbing their new runes and looking morosely up at the Gard. "No one seems pleased with the situation."

"And Morgenstern?" Amycus asked.

"None the wiser, and Aldertree doesn't seem interested in enlightening him."

"Why, though?" Amycus led them along the river, drawing nearer to the house they had stolen from a family of ill-fated shadowhunters who were Imperiused. "You think he might want to warn Valentine of the Dark Lord?"

"I haven't the slightest clue why these shadowhunters do as they do." Alecto pushed open the door to their house and found one of the shadowhunters-Walker, their name had been-waiting for their arrival, a dull look on his face. "Take this, will you?" Alecto hissed at the shadowhunter, throwing his cloak.

"And light a fire, you!" Amycus snarled at the woman who was in the kitchen washing dishes.

The woman hurried away and Alecto drummed his fingers on the kitchen table. "We'll have to tell the Dark Lord."

"Bellatrix has arrived. She sent word after you left this morning," Amycus warned. "She's waiting in the forest with a few of those dogs. She said she wants word of Clary and Jace's father, and she'll report to the Dark Lord. She's waiting for word."

"Of course she is," Alecto hissed. "Why did he send her? Isn't she busy with the Morgenstern children?"

"The Dark Lord thinks otherwise."

Brother and sister exchanged dark looks and passed into the sitting room where the Walkers were waiting with identical blank stares. Alecto scowled at them, venting some of his anger at Bellatrix at them.

"Get out of here!" he spat. "Go. Do something useful, why don't you?"

They slipped away and Amycus approached the fire, tossing something similar to floo powder on it. The fire crackled green for a moment and then sent sparks flying in all directions. From the ashes came the arrogant visage of Bellatrix. Her dark eyes swept from side to side, a satisfied look at that would have done Valentine proud.

"It took you two long enough, didn't it?" Bellatrix asked. "I hope you kept me waiting for a good reason. If you keep me waiting, you keep the Dark Lord waiting."

"If the Dark Lord were that worried, perhaps he would allow us to simple contact him?" Alecto asked sharply.

"Idiot," Bellatrix snorted. "How suspicious do you think it would be if it were discovered that a fireplace in Idris was in contact with Malfoy Manner? Right now, the Ministry has no interest in Idris, but if a message were suddenly sent to a wizard, what do you think would happen then?"

Alecto ground his teeth. She was right. "Our apologies."

Bellatrix sniffed. "Yes, yes. Now, what have you seen?"

"It's poorly disguised bedlam," Amycus said proudly. "Some of them have taken to Morgenstern's regime, but most have not. A lot of bitterness. A lot of talk of rebellion."

"Morgenstern won't allow it," Bellatrix said, disinterested. "He has them under his control as long as the runes hold. But give it time…let the murmurs spread. We'll strike then."

"We will?" Amycus asked.

Bellatrix laughed. "Valentine will soon see that his grip on the people is precarious at best. In the city, we will wreak havoc, sewing discord. Valentine will send his shadowhunters out into the world to kill the Downworlders and they will fight back. Within the city, the shadowhunters will splinter, outside the city, they will be massacred."

"There's no guarantee that the Downworlders will fight back," Alecto pointed out.

"They will when the Dark Lord promises them aid," Bellatrix laughed sweetly.

"We'll have to work alongside those _things_?" Amycus said horrified.

"Not me," Bellatrix said sweetly.

Amycus and Alecto wore identical expressions of dislike. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to make sure that when the right time comes, the right things happen," Bellatrix said slowly, enjoying the Carrows' frustration.

"Meaning what?" Alecto asked carefully.

"Meaning that when Valentine begins to lose his grip on the situation, I'll be there to get the ball finally rolling. I'll make sure that the_ right things happen_."

"What are those?"

Bellatrix smiled thinly. "The types of things that will get the Dark Lord what he wants: an end to the shadowhunters, the destruction of Alicante, and the Morgenstern brats."


	5. The Waiting Game

Hey everyone. I'm REALLY sorry this took so long but my best friend/roommate just moved out so the last few days have been long goodbye tour for us and I didn't have much time for the whole writing thing. Best!

The Waiting Game

_Killing rips the soul apart_

_-Albus Dumbledore_

"The tiredness goes away after a little bit," Remus said, wrapping the blanket tighter around himself and leaning toward the hearth. "The best thing for it, I've found, is a strong drink."

Nathaniel thought suddenly of his father who, after a long night scouring the streets of London for demons, would pour himself a large brandy. "What do you got?"

Remus stood and meandered over to the liquor cabinet, removing a small, brown bottle. "Fire Whiskey."

Nathaniel perked up, having heard of the drink but never tasted it himself. "Does it really give you dragon's breath?"

Remus smiled. "A shadowhunter, a werewolf, and a dragon? Aren't you quite enough now?"

Nathaniel smiled and took the glass Remus offered him and then scooted closer to the fire. They had returned to Remus' house after a wild run and were tucked as close to the fire place as they could be and not get burned. Nathaniel sniffed the drink, took a sip, and then gagged.

"What is this?" he asked, managing to swallow. It left a distinctly woody taste in his mouth.

"Make you feel better," Remus grunted, drawing on his and making a face before swallowing. "Make you feel warmer, at least."

The two sat in companionable silence, drinking their whiskey and feeling the warmth of it spread slowly through their limbs. At length, Nathaniel lifted his eyes from the dancing flames. "Is this how it always is now? We live on the outskirts of everything?"

Remus frowned. "It won't be forever, Nathaniel. Right now, the combination of Voldemort wanting you, and you learning how to control yourself is reason enough to keep you a bit apart. Give it time, give it some thought…you'll be able to go back soon."

"Why would Voldemort want me now?"

"You're a werewolf, and he knows you're in Dumbledore's care." Remus shrugged. "He's trying to convince the werewolves to join him, but you could have the potential to upset his plans."

"He released me!"

"No," said Remus softly. "Bellatrix released you, and I doubt very much Voldemort was pleased with her over that. He probably wanted you dead."

Nathaniel tucked the blanket he was using to cover himself tighter, wondering if he would have preferred death to this. "It gets better, you mean?"

"You'll get better, you'll see," he said gently. "I wouldn't be surprised if, in a few months, Dumbledore might not ask you to assist in the war."

"And you'd let me?" Nathaniel asked suspiciously.

"I'm certainly in no position to stop you." Remus finished his whiskey. "The war isn't going as well as we'd like, and with Valentine's recent move, it's downright dangerous now. We're going to need help."

Nathaniel placed the glass down, thinking of Idris. "Can I fight Valentine?"

"Fighting Valentine may not be the priority you think it is," Remus said softly. "And rest assured, anything you do for the cause will be a setback for him."

"You can't know that," Nathaniel said reasonably. "You don't know what Valentine has planned."

"True, but I know what Dumbledore has planned for him, and I'd be surprised if he stood a chance in the end."

* * *

Isabelle let hot water rush over her face and body as she pushed her thoughts away and sank into the bath water. She lingered there a moment, long enough to hear nothing but her own heart beating, then she surfaced and breathed in the steamy air. The smell of Magnus' citrus soap burst in her nose, like breathing in a gust of exotic air. Her eyes snapped open and she scrunched up her nose.

_Can't he just have vanilla soap instead? _she wondered, frustrated. Aside from sleeping around, taking a shower was Isabelle's way of relaxing, and the current living situation called for a little relaxation.

Tiredly, she sank back down into the water and tried to focus only on her breathing. After a minute, when she felt she had managed to push away any residual thoughts, she dipped below the water again. All she could hear was the sound of her own heart beating, but even that was muted by the water. When she was sure she completely at ease, Isabelle opened her eyes. The water distorted everything and gave the world above a, ethereal quality. It wasn't concrete or defined, it was blurred and far away.

Far away was primarily what Isabelle wanted. To be far away from her recent argument with Simon, her tragic battle with the fairies, the war with Valentine, the war with Voldemort. Water seemed like an ideal escape just then from all those things, and she basked in its solitude. She closed her eyes again, but when she opened them she was horrified to see her hair drifting across her line of vision, looking like lazy seaweed.

_Like the fairy_.

Isabelle snapped upright, feeling the water rush off her shoulders and back. Almost like a mad woman, Isabelle grabbed the end of her hair and examined it like it was going to change into the fairy hair in her hands. When it remained black and wet, she tossed it aside and drew her knees up so she could rest her chin on them.

"It wasn't my fault," she said to herself. "They would have told the Seelie Queen, and she would have bargained with Valentine."

Isabelle had been telling herself that quite a lot lately, but it didn't seem to have any effect on her. For some reason, she was constantly thinking of the fairy she had killed. It wasn't something she was prone to doing, mourning the loss of Downworlders, and why she was doing it now, she didn't know. She only knew that at night, she saw the fairy's face, when she was alone, she could smell the blood, when she was quiet, she heard its last ragged breath.

"Leave me alone," Isabelle ordered the premonition. "Leave me alone."

Bath ruined, Isabelle got up and wrapped herself in a towel; while the tub drained, she brushed her hair into orderly, straight strands and then pinned it into a tight bun. _No more seaweed for hair._

She changed into a pair of sweats and a loose t-shirt, as Alec was going out that day, and slouched out into the living area. It was a mess of her things on the couch where she was sleeping, Max's books he was supposed to be reading, and Magnus' general clutter. Aimlessly, Isabelle tossed some of her things into a bag, but it just made her tired, so she flopped down on the couch and stared at the blank television.

_You could write another letter to Jace and Clary, _she thought, but the time it took to get letter back and forth was painful. _You could call Simon and apologize and see if he wants to come over and talk. _Not that Simon would necessarily forgive her. Isabelle was quickly learning that an apology didn't mean you were forgiven. _You can watch T.V. then._

And that's what Isabelle did for almost three hours until she heard the front door open and Max came hurrying in. He saw Isabelle slumped on the couch and approached her, almost like she was a feral animal. "What are you doing, Izzy?"

"Watching some show about an old cranky judge," she said in a bored voice. "Want to watch something?"

Max peered at the screen. "I don't think so. I've been up since the morning, I might just go nap."

Isabelle could sense that he was uncomfortable and she could only assume it was because what he had seen with her. "What did you do today?" she asked.

"Nothing," Max said, drawing a little closer into the room. "We saw some witches, and they were talking about some-some people."

"People?" Isabelle perked up, and she searched the room quickly for Alec. "What people?"

"I don't know. Death somethings."

"_Death Somethings_?" Isabelle asked, scrunching up her nose. "There's no such thing."

"It's what we heard," said Max obstinately. "Alec can tell you."

"I can tell Izzy what?"

"The last time you were keeping secrets, I believe we had quite an argument that ended in you sneaking off to Idris and almost dying." Isabelle was staring at Alec with a hard look. "What are these Death Somethings?"

Alec sat down slowly opposite Isabelle with a glass of water in his hand. "I have no idea. I was hoping Magnus might clear it up when he gets back."

"What did the witches say exactly?" Isabelle asked.

"That there had been spottings of these people in some of the more questionable bars in town." When Isabelle kept staring at him. "It was just a whisper. Nothing."

"Are you sure?"

"Is it Valentine?" Alec countered. "Death somethings aren't my concern just right now."

Isabelle frowned. "It sounds familiar, though…are you sure we haven't heard of them before?"

"Even if we had," said Alec, and his voice was tight and Isabelle guessed he was trying to be mature for Max's sake. "It's nothing but rumors. Whatever or whoever these people are, they're nothing but words."

Isabelle felt a familiar thrill of excitement at the mention of something dangerous. "Nothing but words for now. Any luck contacting our fellow shadowhunters on the run?"

"Afraid not," said Alec. "I'm considering going to that bar Luke used to frequent, the werewolf one, and leaving a message for any shadowhunter opposed to Valentine who finds their way there."

"Why not?"

"What if the werewolves put the word out to the wrong people? What if Valentine's men force it out of them?" Alec shook his head. "It's too risky."

"Then we make no progress," Isabelle sighed.

"Better than _regressing_," Alec returned. "I don't want to announce our position. I think it will be safer after a few more weeks…give it time for Valentine to think we're either dead or hidden so well he won't have a hope of finding us." Alec took another long drink from his water and sat silently, contemplating his own words. Would Valentine ever stop hunting them?

"What if there aren't any others?" Isabelle asked quietly. She had been thinking about it that entire day and it scared her. "What if we're really the only ones who got away?"

Alec's face softened. "We're not, Izzy. Maybe they're just kids like us, maybe not, but there are other shadowhunters out there, and we'll find them."

The word _kid_ drew a blush to Isabelle's cheeks. "And when we do, we'll make Valentine regret attacking our family. Attacking our lives."

It sounded like a frightening promise. But she meant it.

* * *

"He wants you two as well?" Harry asked, insulting both Jace and Clary by the surprise in his voice. When he looked up from the letter he had received across the table at dinner, he realized Clary especially hadn't taken it well.

"Does the mighty Dumbledore deign to speak with me and Jace?" she asked, eyes narrowed.

"It's not like that," said Harry, looking to Ron and Hermione for support. "It's just that he's never asked me to bring anyone else before. Not even Ron and Hermione."

"Well, if Ron and Hermione don't ever get invited-"

"You're still in a foul mood, aren't you?" Ron asked, earning a look of relief from Harry. "Listen, I said I was sorry about your fingernails."

Clary would have slammed her hand on the table, but it was still too sore from her de-nailing earlier that day. During a particularly robust Charms lesson, Ron had accidently caused Clary's nails to grow almost a foot long. They had been spectacularly sharp and had made it impossible for her to complete the lesson. Professor Flitwick had sent her to the Infirmary where Madam Pomfrey had spent an afternoon sawing away at her nails.

"No you didn't," she said.

"Well, I meant to, but you ran out of class so fast…" Ron petered off when he saw the look on Clary's face. "Right, well, I'm sorry now."

"Really," said Hermione, who was looking put out, "if any of us should be angry, it's Ron and me. All of our friends get to have a secret meeting with Dumbledore but us. Hardly fair."

Clary pursed her lips but before she could say more, Jace chuckled. "You could have given Luke's claws a run for their money," Jace said, smiling at her and offering her a slice of roast chicken. When she merely glowered, Jace continued. "And I imagine you could have cut someone's throat had you the mind."

"Had I the mind, is right," she warned. "And I'm not angry about the nails. I want to know why Dumbledore suddenly wants us."

"You can find out tonight," Harry returned, sounding only a little displeased. He took his lessons with Dumbledore seriously, and doubted whether he would really learn anything new with Jace's constant commentary in his ear. "We have to leave soon, too, so eat fast."

Jace, smirking at Harry, stuffed a chuck of meat the size of his cell phone into his mouth, chewing loudly. The girls at the table behind them looked horrified that the handsomest boy in school seemed to be the most ill-mannered. "You eat fast," he managed around his bite.

Harry rolled his eyes in time to see Ginny and Dean enter the dining hall; he suddenly felt decidedly not hungry. When Ginny ignored Dean's offer to fill her a plate, he smiled just a little. Too much, though, because when he looked back, Jace was watching him with his annoying, knowing expression. Harry didn't bother blushing; he knew Jace knew-the shadowhunter was too shrewd.

"If you don't make yourself sick, the people around you might vomit," Harry observed, and pushed his plate away. "Like myself."

"I'm an orphan, remember." Jace used his fork like a spear and jabbed it into his meat. "No one taught me manners. I spent all my free time running around New York. A regular warren."

"I was an orphan, and if you say that the Dursleys taught me manners, you've obviously never seen Dudley eat." Harry stood up and gestured to the door. "The earlier we get there, the better. I'm sure there's lots to discuss."

Jace swallowed his overlarge bite, and, with a cajoling look to Harry, nodded his head toward the door. Clary was still seething, and she wasn't quite sure why. She thought that maybe she frustrated, being kept away from the action, and the only man who could free her made her wait on him. That he could summon her to him, but should she demand something, he could simply wave her away. She wanted to know what was happening with Valentine, she wanted to be a part of the world again.

"He's just going to tell us that Valentine hasn't done anything lately." When Jace continued to stare at her, she sighed. "I'm sure he's just going to let us know no one has died."

"I thought I was the only person who got to complain loudly about Dumbledore?" Jace asked as Clary stood up.

They exited the hall with Clary still in a bad mood and Harry confused as to the presence of the shadowhunters. They passed through Hogwart's halls silently and approached Dumbledore's office tensely. When they drew nearer, the gargoyles that patrolled the entrance turned to face them. Harry waved them off with the password. When they finally reached the top of the winding staircase, Harry was anxious for the conversations to end and the lesson to begin.

Dumbledore was seated at his desk when they arrived, looking over was appeared to be a heavy tome. In the corner of the room, Harry saw the telltale glow of Penseive and felt of thrill of anticipation. When the door closed behind them, Dumbledore looked up.

"Early today, aren't we?" he asked softly. His blue eyes moved from Harry's face, to Clary's, who was watching him with her lips pursed. "Has something upset you, Ms. Black? Or have you not yet recovered from that disastrous nail incident in class today?"

Clary didn't bother playing Dumbledore's game. If he knew about everything that went on in the school, she guessed he knew what was on her mind. "I want to know why you called us here."

"And this makes you angry?" he asked, and the note of amusement in his voice was like a punch to her gut.

"No," she said thickly. "It's just a little annoying is all to have to wait for you to call us here just to update us on things we have no control over."

Dumbledore tipped his head. "I'm sure it is frustrating to know that current events are moving so quickly and have to sit and watch. The waiting game is never fun."

"And yet, we still have to play it," Clary finished.

"Well, perhaps I can offer you some reprieve from the tedium," Dumbledore offered. He placed the book he had been reading aside and gestured to the chairs before his desk. "We have some things to discuss, Harry, before the lesson can begin. Please, won't you all sit down?"

They took their seats while Dumbledore thumbed through an impressive pile of parchment. "It seems that, as we expected, Lord Voldemort has turned his attention to Idris, but appears content with waiting."

Jace sat up a little straighter than usual when he was speaking with Dumbledore. "Is he _in _Idris?"

"Of course not," he said. "But Professor Snape has received word that Death Eaters have infiltrated the city and are poised to strike out when ordered to do so."

"Strike out at who?" Jace asked sharply. "Not Valentine?"

"I think not," Dumbledore said. "It would be foolish, and, if I may say so, pointless, to attack a man everyone already wants dead. In time, someone will kill Valentine, but Lord Voldemort will not waste his energy doing it."

"Then why go to Idris?" Clary pressed. "Why bother sending any of his servants to the city if he's not going to kill Valentine?"

"Do you remember why you brought to this school in the first place?" Dumbledore asked. Jace and Clary glanced at each other, both having bitter memories of the day. "Lord Voldemort wanted you two for something special-_only _you two. The rest of the shadowhunters are, as far as he is concerned, useless. This leads me to believe that he is waiting for an opportune moment to destroy them."

"Well, that time has come and past, hasn't it?" Harry interceded. "When Valentine had destabilized the Clave would have been perfect."

"Would it though?" Dumbledore asked shrewdly. "Consider this: the Clave and all the shadowhunters were already prepared for battle, and Valentine in possession of an impressive army. Lord Voldemort's forces are now spread far and thin. Do you think that the Death Eaters could have overpowered a fully mobilized army of shadowhunters and Valentine's army of demons?" When Harry didn't answer, Dumbledore continued. "No, he would certainly have lost. But now…now was condition is the Clave in?"

Jace swallowed. "I take it many of the shadowhunters are unhappy with Valentine's return? They won't trust him to lead, and without a leader, they really aren't an army."

"They don't trust him and he, apparently, doesn't trust them," agreed Dumbledore. "It seems he has been using an obedience rune to keep the bulk of the population in line. I would imagine the shadowhunters are growing weak now."

"But Valentine can mobilize them any time," Jace reminded Dumbledore. "Literally, any time."

"And I'm sure he will, but will it be for the most pressing threat?" Dumbledore wondered. "You know Valentine well, Jace. What do you think he considers the more dangerous: Downworlders or a warlock he's never heard of?"

"He won't leave himself open to an attack," Jace warned. "And he's not stupid. He'll keep a contingent of shadowhunters at Idris to protect the Clave."

"I-and Lord Voldemort-expect no less of him." Dumbledore leaned back in his seat, pressing his fingertips together. "But, again, think of this. True, an arguably large group of shadowhunters will remain in Idris, but the majority will go out into the world, most probably to begin killing Downworlders. Surely, some will die in that pointless war? Some will be even bitterer than they are now? Valentine's loyal shadowhunters will remain with him, but how many are truly loyal? And, most importantly, how many will remain loyal when Lord Voldemort begins to strain the shadowhunters?"

Jace frowned and Clary said, "What do you mean by strain?"

"I have no doubt that Voldemort will do as he has done here. He will sew misery and fear throughout your people. Those who are forced to do Valentine's bidding will furious, and those who are loyal-upon experiencing Lord Voldemort's wrath-will not be so loyal anymore. I think the shadowhunters will splinter, and though Valentine will have control of them, I am sure they are resourceful enough to devise some sort of revenge."

"You mean Voldemort's going to turn everyone against Valentine?" Clary asked dully. "So what?"

"So, fearmongering can often do much more damage to any cause than an actual attack. And remember, the war will come on all fronts for Valentine then. The Downworlders he wants to kill. Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters, who will also assist the Downworlders. And then from his own people. I think it will be difficult to balance so many discontents."

"And what happens when the balance is finally shot?" Harry asked slowly.

"I can only imagine that it will be the ideal time for Lord Voldemort to strike," Dumbledore finished in a soft, heavy voice. He looked down at the parchment before him, thinking. "Of course, this is just the speculation of myself and our young shadowhunters, but I think it is correct. And this means we have few options left to prevent the destruction of the shadowhunters."

"We'll be able to defend ourselves for some time," Jace reminded him. "We are warriors."

"No doubt, but the questions isn't of your ability, it is of Lord Voldemort's cunning. Not even the greatest warriors can hold back the avalanche that will fall soon. They aren't going to be out-competed by Lord Voldemort, they're going to be outmaneuvered."

"Valentine will run if it comes down to it," Jace said. "He won't risk his own neck if the city falls."

"No, but what Valentine may or may not do when he is defeated is little concern of mine. The defeating part is most pressing now and I have been trying to find a way restore the Clave to its former self before Voldemort destroys it."

"You'll need to get rid of Valentine then," Clary said simply. "He's still got an army of demons, too."

"Demons will flock to Voldemort," Dumbledore said indifferently.

"They're controlled by the Sword."

"Just barely," Dumbledore continued. "A shadowhunter was never meant to have dominion over demons, and, I fear that in the future, something or someone will see to his tenuous grip on the demons. Whether it is Lord Voldemort or some other creature of the dark, I do not know."

"But we still need to stop him," Harry finished. "That's how this ends, isn't it? If we stop Valentine before Voldemort, we can reestablish the Clave, who can organize and prepare against him, and who can help us fight."

"Yes, and I think we all know what will be necessary to stop Valentine."

"The Mirror," Clary and Jace said as one.

"The Mirror, indeed." Dumbledore gestured vaguely to the book he had been reading before they arrived. "I have reason to believe it is still in Idris as there is no note of it ever being moved, but where it may be hidden, I don't know. I do not think it's in Alicante, nor the Bone City, nor the Adamant Citadel."

"Then where in Idris?" Jace asked, annoyed at Dumbledore's unyielding results.

"Somewhere no one ever thought to look," he said, smiling ever so slightly. "If it had been hidden ages ago, say, in the bowls of the Adamant Citidel, it would certainly be lost, but I believe someone would have stumbled upon it. Objects like these…they have a tendency to be found, do they not, when they are most wanted."

At Jace's side, Harry snapped to attention like he'd been shocked with an electrical current. Jace chose to ignore him. "In Idris somewhere that wouldn't be noticed?"

"Or noticeable, but easily forgotten," Clary said.

Dumbledore bowed his head to her. "I would like for you two to search every place you can think of in this castle for a clue as to where the Mirror may be. I will extend permission for you to enter the Restricted Section of the library as well as any other places in this castle that might be hiding secrets."

"You should send us to Idris," Jace muttered.

"Yes, I suppose sending you to a city where both Valentine Morgenstern and Lord Voldemort have sentries looking for you would be safe." Dumbledore's sudden use of sarcasm was jarring enough for Jace to close his mouth. "For _now_, you two must search the castle. Look everywhere. If we don't find the Mirror soon, I fear for us."

* * *

Clary woke up early on Saturday, strange dreams of broken glass and icy water chasing each other around her head. She tried her best to remember what she had seen, tried to remember the strange sounds that had floated above her head…sad music, she thought. But it was like trying to hold the wind in her hands: to simply drifted away. Still, she sat in her bed for a while, just thinking about it.

_It has to mean something, _she thought. _Broken mirrors aren't a coincidence given that we just happen to have to find the Mirror._

Unsettled, Clary tossed herself back down on the bed in her dorm and wrapped the blankets around her. Through her bed curtains, she could hear the other girls moving around, muttering to one and other, and wondering about the weather and what they should wear. It all seemed so pointless after the things she had seen and heard.

_Is this how it's always going to be? _Clary wondered, feeling sick. _Will I always feel different than the people around me because of what I know? _Images of her father passed before her eyes, and Clary stared up at the ceiling. The Mirror swam into view again and she beat her hand against the mattress. _I'm more than just bad memories and haunting dreams._

It looked to be the start to a pretty dour day, however, at that moment, Hermione pulled back her curtains, decked out in red and gold. She tossed a red sweater Clary's way, smiling brightly. "Get up. It's Quiddtich!"

* * *

Clary and Hermione arrived in the dining hall just in time to bid the Quidditch team good luck. Harry was looking as determined as ever, Ron, ill, and Jace his usual bored self. When he saw Clary enter, though, a wicked light entered his eyes and he gestured down at his robes.

"Women love a man in uniform, right?"

His comment was met with giggles from Lavender who was sitting close enough to catch Ron's eyes, but Clary merely shrugged her shoulders. "Depends on the uniform, doesn't it?"

"That's not fair," said Jace stoutly. "I permitted Harry and Ron to put this ridiculous thing on me just for you, and all you give me is a shrug?"

"I didn't know you needed help dressing," Clary smirked, allowing Jace to pull her into his arms.

"It's the undressing part I'm best at," he said in an undertone, and then kissed her deeply. A round of cheering and whistles was heard from the other Gryffindors. "And if you need help with it, I can practice with you tonight."

"How kind of you," Clary laughed, and then pushed him away toward the team. "But if you don't win, the only thing you'll be dressing is a wound. I don't like dating losers."

Jace raised his eyebrows. "Simon?"

With a cry more of embarrassment than anything else, Clary threw a potato slice at Jace and watched him just barely dodge it. When he looked back at her, he was pleasantly surprised. "You've got better aim than Alec."

Clary merely smiled. "Remember that."

Jace shook his head and followed the rest of the team into the hall to loud cheers from the Gryffindor table. Harry seemed oddly distracted, and Jace moved into step beside him. "Bee in your bonnet?"

Harry jumped, recalling the same thing from the Sorting Hat many years ago. "Something was bothering me, but I can't remember."

"Malfoy?" Jace guessed. "How'd he sneak out of this game? What's his excuse?"

"Doesn't need one, he's just bad at Qidditch," Harry said, still trying to recall exactly what he had been thinking of. "And no, it's not him. There was something I was thinking of last night before I went to bed…something important to tell you."

"If it's to throw the Quaffle slower at Ginny so she doesn't drop it, it's not my fault she's clumsy."

"Hey, I heard that," Ginny said, emerging from the crowd and tweaking Jace's robes. "And you're too excited about these things. I need you to aim before you throw."

"Yeah, well I need you to catch," Jace shot back, but Harry caught both their eyes.

"Listen, the last thing I need from either of you is a bunch of nonsense right now. We have a game we need to win." Harry glowered at Jace who looked ready to argue, and Ginny, who was flushing. "Keep it together today and go for each other's throats tonight."

The team tromped out to the field in silence and changed quickly into their team robes. Harry was watching Jace, considering his choice and wondering if Jace could be a team player. As if to reassure him, he watched, shocked, when Jace kindly handed Ginny her knee pads and winked and Ginny flashed him a friendly smile.

_Not exactly he best, but it could be worse_, Harry thought, and then drew the team in for a quick pep speech.

Out on the field, the stands were filling up and Clary and Hermione were positioned in a prime location beside Hagrid and Neville. Around them, the general fervor of the crowd was infectious and Clary felt a thrill; she clapped her hands excitedly and drew her cloak tightly against her.

"Who are they playing?" Clary asked.

"Hufflepuff," Hermione said promptly, pointing to the side of the arena where a wall of yellow was cheering. "I wouldn't be too worried about them."

"Really?" Clary asked. "Not the shining stars of the Quidditch world?"

"Not even close," said Hagrid, leaning closer to them and chuckling. "Should be a great way for Jace to break in on the team."

Clary smiled at Hagrid. "Aren't Professors not supposed to take sides?"

"You tell that to Professor Snape," Hagrid grunted as the teams entered the field to explosive applause.

"Welcome to this season's first Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff!" It was Luna Lovegood, sounding like her usual airy self. "It's certainly going to be an exciting match now that Gryffindor has its first ever shadowhunter player, though it's very possible, given their penchant for mostly night time activities, that some form of garlic might serve as an effective combatant."

Clary snorted loudly at the mention of _night time activities_ and Hermione knocked her with her shoulder. "That's one way of putting it."

"And they're off," Luna said dreamily. "Seems like the Hufflepuff Chaser is flying a little wobbly today. I suspect it could be a Fwooper, though what the bird would be doing this far from Africa at a Quidditch match is anyone's guess. It's quite possible that the change in weather has driven them out of their migratory pattern-"

"What the hell is she talking about?" Jace called to Ginny as he brushed beside her, Quaffle in hand.

"Just ignore it," Ginny called back, dodging a Bludger sent her way by an angry looking Hufflepuff. "She's off her rocker!"

Jace dropped down below the oncoming Hufflepuff Chasers, corkscrewing as he went. The wind lifted his hair off his face and neck, and a rush of energy pulsed through him, and he was reminded of the nights hunting demons. Behind him, he could hear Hufflepuffs in pursuit, but he put on an extra spurt of speed and shot like an arrow toward the ground. The crowd gasped at his display, drawing the attention of other players.

High above Jace, Harry used the momentary distraction Jace had created to circle the arena and look for the Snitch. Around him, he saw one of the Beaters heading for him, another for Jace, and he sped off down the field. Around him, Harry could hear the ridiculous commentary of Luna and he wondered vaguely how long it would take before Professor McGonagall tore the megaphone away from her.

_Just find the snitch_, he thought when he glanced behind him and noticed a streak of yellow that he suspected was the Hufflepuff Seeker.

Suddenly, something red and gold cut across his path and Harry swerved to the side. It was Jace, being chased through the sky by lagging Hufflepuffs, and Harry cursed when they almost hit him. However, Harry realized quickly that Jace's plan had been to force the pursuing Hufflepuffs to break apart on him, like water on a rock.

"Dammit, Jace," Harry swore, but watched, supremely pleased as Jace scored the first point of the game and Ginny scooped the Quaffle out of air before Hufflepuff could.

"Yes?" Jace asked, circling around Harry lazily.

"Just get the Quaffle," Harry snapped, soaring up to get a better view of the field.

In quick succession, Harry's Chasers scored three more times, once more by Jace and twice by Ginny. Luna had, apparently, had the megaphone taken away from her because Lee Jordan was now commentating, but Harry was having no more luck finding the Snitch. He began circling the entire stadium, followed here and there by the Hufflepuff Seeker, but the snitch was thoroughly hidden.

When he heard a cry from below, Harry looked down and saw that Hufflepuff has scored and the Chasers were coming around with the Quaffle for another score, two Gryffindor Chases on their tails. Harry realized quickly who was missing. Furious that Jace didn't seem to bother to try and take the Quaffle back, Harry looked up and down the stadium for him, but his curses stopped in his throat when-

"Clearly, one of the Gryffindor Chasers has a touch of a Fwooper, as he's down at the wrong end." Luna had wrested the megaphone back from a flabbergasted Lee Jordan. "Did anyone see it?"

"Jace!" Harry cried, but the shadowhunter boy caught his eye with a meaningful look and jerked his head toward the highest ring where something small and gold was circling like a small planet around a sun.

Harry didn't think twice. He pelted off along the stadium, air whistling through his ears and making his eyes water; the close he came to the snitch the more it seemed to hover slower and slower, preparing for an escape. Harry put on a last spurt of speed, hoping to catch it before it took off, but as he approached within twenty feet of it, the snitch stopped spinning and darted to the side-

Where Jace cut it off from its path. The snitch shot in the opposite direction, avoiding a potential capture, but it darted directly into Harry's path. Harry's hand clamped down on the small golden ball and he plummeted to the ground as a bell sounded, signaling the end of the game. Harry landed on his feet heavily, Jace right behind him, and the rest of the team came soaring toward to them.

"Not half bad," said Harry, showing Jace the snitch. "Quick thinking, cutting the snitch off."

"Tactical planning 101," said Jace evenly, though his eyes were glowing with excitement. "Easier to hunt in a group than alone."

Harry smiled and tossed him the snitch; Jace caught it and admired the light glancing off its surface. "I think it's about time we introduce the rest of the team to shadowhunter training."


	6. Where the Lost Things Are

Where the Lost Things Are

_It is a room a person can enter when they have real need of it_

_-Dobby_

The Gryffindor victory served as a fantastic distraction for almost four days. It hadn't necessarily surprised most of the school that Gryffindor had won, especially given the superb team Harry had put together, but that didn't mean celebrations weren't in order. Saturday night, Gryffindor house celebrated in true fashion with drinks and treats and music until Professor McGonagall arrived at half past three to tell them all off. On Sunday, most of the students ignored any homework they might have and took a day to relax and bask in the victory glow. Clary and Jace spent some especially fun time together in an empty classroom, but were interrupted by the arrival of Peeves, who chose to spend the rest of the day, following them around, imitating the sounds they had been making. Clary, to say the least, was embarrassed by his performance at dinner that culminated in her gasping his name. Ron, too, was having his fair share of fun, being trailed about by Lavender, who was happy to listen to his retelling of the game with bigger and bigger eyes.

Monday, though, was a return to routine, and the lazy Sunday caught up with Gryffindor house fast. Ginny could be heard complaining to Dean that she had three hours of work to make up in Charms and had absolutely no time to spend with him. Harry, who was as much preoccupied with Voldemort as he was with the match, hadn't done any homework in Potions, and earned soft warning from Professor Slughorn, though he was quick to attribute the forgetfulness to such a fun match and was sure Harry would make it up with outstanding work in class. He did and all was forgiven, though Hermione refused to speak to him the entire class. Ron earned a detention for having nothing to hand in to Snape. And, Jace and Clary, who were set as partners in Charms to make two canaries sing an opera duet, had completely forgotten to read the chapter and failed miserably. Victory forgotten, Tuesday found Harry, Ron, Jace, Hermione, and Clary in the library during their free periods, trying to catch up on a mountain of work they had swept aside.

"It's impossible," Ron said, pushing his parchment and quill aside and gazing out the window at the iron grey sky that threatened snow. "It's too much work."

"If you'd taken the time Sunday-" Hermione began, but even Clary wasn't in a mood for a lecture, and shot her a dark look. "Just stay up late tonight and you'll be fine tomorrow."

"It just seems like so much," agreed Harry, sitting back in his seat. "Plus, I take it none of you have given thought to the Mirror problem."

"Mirror?" Hermione asked sharply.

Jace and Clary quickly filled her in on the events with Dumbledore from the past week.

Ron, looking bemused, said, "I expect you've checked all the usual places: bathrooms, bedroom dressers, clothing shops…"

"It's serous, Ron," said Clary. "If Valentine finds the Mirror before us, he can summon the Angel. Right now, he's using fear, a demon army, and runes to keep them in check, but if the Angel gives him what he wants…we could have another war on our hands."

"And no one knows where it is?" Hermione asked. "How is that possible? How do you lose a mirror with clear magical properties?"

"I don't know," said Clary, a little sharply. "I wasn't there when the Mirror was lost, and it happened so long ago that no one knows where to even start looking."

"Suppose it'll be in the last place you look," Ron shrugged.

"Well, that's obvious," said Jace in a bored voice. "If it wasn't in the last place we looked, we'd still be searching for it."

"It's a turn of phrase-" began Ron hotly, but Harry gasped.

"No, it isn't!" he said suddenly. His eyes were bright and he shoved his school books away carelessly. "Why didn't I think of it before…The Mirror isn't in the last place anyone would look because it's _lost_."

"If something is lost," said Jace frankly, "that would explain why we're looking for it."

"Don't bother," said Harry, gathering up his books and shoving them in his book bag. "I know where it is."

"Impossible," Jace said simply. "It's been lost for ages. There's no way you could know where it is, you don't even know what it looks like."

"I don't need to know what it looks like," said Harry distractedly. "It's lost."

"So we've heard," said Clary dryly. "How exactly does that help us find the Mirror?"

Harry smiled. "You don't need to find the Mirror. You need to find the place where all lost things are found."

* * *

"Another spotting?" Alec asked tiredly, stirring the eggs harder and harder. "But who? A shadowhunter or one of Voldemort's people?"

Magnus fell gracefully into the seat at the breakfast bar of his apartment. "Shadowhunter this time, but he looked a little lost. I would imagine they weren't searching for you, just scouting the city for Downworlders."

"Did he see you?"

Magnus looked up slowly, almost offended. "I wouldn't _let_ him see me, Alexander."

"Not that you would lead him back to us…"

"I didn't think that." Magnus poured himself a glass of water and dropped a cucumber slice in his glass. "I believe Valentine has begun sending out sentries to take stock of the Downworlders before he begins his war."

Alec bit his lip. "Do you think he will send highly trained shadowhunters after you?"

"Probably," Magnus smiled. "But now that the Clave no longer allies itself with the Accords, I have absolutely no reason not to attack them. Besides, between you, myself, and Isabelle, I think we can manage any team Valentine sends."

Alec sat down. "Have you talked to Isabelle lately?"

"Just a bit ago we had a lovely conversation about what Taylor Swift wore to the MTV music awards."

"You know what I mean," Alec said firmly. "She hasn't been talking to me lately, and Max is avoiding her."

Magnus pressed his lips together. "Have you asked her?"

"You think she would tell me?" Alec asked starkly. "She's been so secretive lately, and she's always tired like she's not sleeping, and she only wants to go out on searches alone."

"Perhaps she's just having trouble dealing with the current state of Idris. It is hard to lose one's home." Magnus doubted this was it, since they had planned for an attack and Isabelle knew well it was only a matter of time before they took the fight the Valentine. "She's not a young girl, Alec, remember that. She's practically a grown woman who has her own hopes and dreams and fears."

"She's my sister," he said resolutely. "I just want to make sure she's okay."

"I think Isabelle is quite strong enough to handle stress, and if she isn't, I think she's smart enough to go to someone. Just remember: that someone might not be you."

Alec smiled faintly. "I don't think I was ever the person."

"She's just in the middle of a rather troubling time." Magnus caught Alec's eye. "I think you will find that when we come out on the other side of this, you and your siblings will be very different. Not necessarily in a bad way."

The word _siblings_ seemed to resonate with Alec. "What about Max? He's been behaving oddly too. He's quiet and he obsessed with learning how to fight-"

"He's a shadowhunter, Alec, it's his job to fight." Magnus reached across the table, brushing Alec's hand with his own. "Max lost his home and his parents. He's confused."

"He had a nightmare but he won't tell me what of," said Alec softly. "I think it was a foredream or something."

Magnus raised his eyebrows. "I wouldn't be surprised if that was it, but it could just be the culmination of months of violence. Either way, I'd like to know what that dream was of."

"I'll ask him." Alec slumped forward on the table, feeling suddenly useless. "I don't think it's me he wants to talk to."

"Probably not," said Magnus, "but you're what he has." Magnus rose up slowly and came around the table, trailing his hand over Alec's arm and onto his shoulder. "You shouldn't be so surprised by his withdrawal from you. How close were you and your father?"

"Not very," Alec hedged.

"Absent a father, Max has you," Magnus said simply. "It should be something of an honor, a difficult honor, but one all the same."

"I want to help him," Alec said, turning to face Magnus.

"You can only help him as much as he'll allow you," said Magnus, and lowered his lips to Alec's in a slow, warm kiss. "Don't push him."

Alec turned in his seat and deepened the kiss with Magnus, reaching up and grasping a hank of his hair in his hands. "Magnus, what would I do without you?"

Magnus smiled warmly against Alec's lips. "You know, I haven't the slightest clue."

* * *

Harry rushed along the left corridor of the seventh floor, his friends hurrying after him looking confused. Hermione, who was beside Clary, suddenly gasped in understanding.

"Harry, it's brilliant," she said breathlessly. "Why didn't I think of it?"

"What's brilliant?" Jace asked.

"You won't believe it until you see it," Hermione promised.

Clary and Jace were both on the verge of telling Harry off for being so obscure, but they came to a skidding halt before a blank stretch of wall. Harry laughed, throwing his arms wide, and Ron, who finally seemed to understand whooped in appreciation. Harry turned to face Jace and Clary, who were staring at him like he'd gone crazy.

"This is it," said Harry. "This is where the Mirror is."

Jace looked from Harry, to the blank wall, and then back before slowly approaching the wall, brushing his fingers along it, and nodding. "Of course! All this time the Mirror was cleverly disguising itself as a solid wall. Makes perfect sense."

"Don't be a prat," said Harry carelessly. "You're looking at one the most valuable, impossible rooms in the whole Hogwarts."

"There is no room," said Clary, looking at the wall.

"It's there," said Hermione. "Neville found it last year when we were trying to hide from Umbridge. We used it to host our meetings for Dumbledore's Army."

When Clary and Jace continued to look at her, Harry gestured at the wall again. "It's called the Room of Requirement. It's a magical room that become anything the person asks it to be."

"Impossible," said Jace.

"Don't you even get tired of being wrong?" Harry asked, smiling.

"But, so what?" Clary asked. "You can't ask the room to become the Mirror."

"True." Harry paced back and forth before the wall, thinking. "But let's say I need a room where all lost things can be found."

"Bit broad of a scope, don't you think?" Jace asked, but then fell silent as the wall before him shimmered, the blocks parted, and a large, wooden door emerged from the wall, pushing forward as if fighting a strong current. It popped into place and a doorknob twisted out of the wood to gleam in the fading light of day. Jace pressed his lips together, glaring at the door. "This castle is overdramatic."

Harry laughed and placed his hand on the doorknob; it was cool, like it had been there all day, waiting for them to come find it. It turned smoothly under his palm, and the door creaked open. A gust of warm wind came rushing out, and through the gap, they could see nothing but darkness. Out of habit, Jace placed the tips of his fingers on his stele, and Clary, following suit, tightened her grip on hers.

Harry released his breath. "Geronimo, right?"

The door swung forward and the darkness lengthened; Clary tried to look in, but her eyes couldn't penetrate the darkness. Her hand brushed against Jace's and he curled his fingers around hers, rubbing the inside of her palm with his thumb. There was a particular warmth that spread through Clary at the feel of Jace's hand, and she drew close enough to brush her shoulder against his arm. Unbeknownst to Clary, Jace took just as much comfort from the feel of Clary's hand in his.

"Me first?" Harry asked ironically before stepping in, the others on his heels.

The torches in the room suddenly flared to life. The room was enormous, the ceilings vaulted, the walls stretching on forever. Around them, piles and piles of objects were strewn, climbing ever higher into the darkness above them. A small path wound through the jungle of forgotten things twisting and turning out of sight. The air itself seemed to contain something: forgotten words, lost songs, whispers of ancient lovers long past. When the door swung shut behind them, something in the distance fell to the floor, clanging as it landed.

"Look at this place," Hermione whispered, taking a few more steps in. She paused before the closest pile and examined a trunk that was overflowing with ancient robes in faded red and gold. "There could be ages and ages of Hogwarts students' things here."

"Is it only students?" Clary wondered aloud, thinking to herself how only very recently she and Jace had become students.

"Harry didn't specify that when he said what he wanted, so I imagine not," Hermione said, now looking at the portrait of a severe looking woman that was propped on its side on top of the trunk.

"But it can't be all the lost things in the world," Jace said reasonably. "That would be-"

"If you say impossible one more time, I'm stuffing your head down a toilet," Ron cut across him.

"But think how long it'll take to search this whole room!" Clary cried. "It could takes week, months, even."

"We've got to start somewhere, right?" Harry said. "I think it's the best chance we've got right now since Dumbledore is sure it's not in Alicante."

Jace was looking sour. "And how do you propose we search?"

"Well," said Harry, thinking slowly. "Well, the Mirror is supposed to be sorta special to shadowhunters, right?"

"That's putting it lightly."

"Right. So is it possible you've got some sort of affiliation-a sense-for it?"

"My spidey sense is tingling," Jace said sardonically.

"Wait, Jace," said Clary quickly. "He might be on to something. Remember back when we first met and we had Madam Dorthea read tarot cards for us?"

"You're referring to the woman possessed by a Greater Demon, yes? The one who threatened to make arms grow out of my head?"

"Don't be an ass," she said. "Well, I picked that card that my mother had hidden the Mortal Cup in. It couldn't have just been chance."

Jace pressed his lips together. "It's possible you have some sort of connection."

"We both do," she said, squeezing his hand. "The Seelie Queen said Valentine did things to both of us. I think whatever it was, it made us more sensitive to the Angel's magic."

"Still, this room is huge," Jace said, looking around again. "Even with some connection, it could be a long while before we find anything."

"Like Harry said, it's our only option right now, right?"

Jace shrugged in defeat. "Maybe we split up and just look around?"

"Jace and Ron can come with me," Harry said, "and Clary with Hermione. That way, whatever connection you two have, we can allow follow your lead."

Reluctantly, because the room did seem to buzz with an almost unkind electricity, Clary let go of Jace's hand and joined Hermione. "We'll take the right, you the left. If anyone sees anything, shoot a red spark into the air."

And so they began the long, arduous process of searching the room. Clary and Hermione progressed slowly, pausing at every pile to look it over, waiting for Clary to feel a connection. They passed by a pile of text books stacked so high, it was at least twice as tall as Ron, tattered robes, worn and dusty, a monstrous statue of what looked like a weeping angel, a box of broken wands, a bucket filled with green sludge that produced bad smelling bubbles, chairs, tables, book shelves and more. It was almost mind numbing, the variety of things in the room. It made Clary feel small, smaller than she had ever felt; somewhere in the world, someone had lost each of these items. Could there really be so many people? It made her think of all the things she had lost in her short life. Were they in this room now? Was her mother going to step out from behind one of the piles, perfectly healed and ready to take her back to New York? Could the Lightwoods?

Across the room, Jace was thinking much the same thing as he picked through the objects. There seemed to be no short supply of interesting and strange things, from an empty cage with the skeleton of a five-legged creature to an actual telephone booth. Was it possible the Mirror was actually there? Was it possible this war against Valentine could be stopped before it claimed any more lives?

_Could you find your family?_

For so long now, Jace had simply pushed aside the questions he had about his family. In the wake of two wars, his captured family, and his isolation from his friends, his past seemed of little consequence. But could it be here? Surely, as far as he was concerned, the truth of the Herondales was lost. Was there a book in this room somewhere, or a treasure chest maybe, of Herondale history? Jace shuddered and tried to push the thought aside, but it clung to him frustratingly.

"Any luck?" Harry asked, making Jace jump.

"Afraid not," he said in his most bored voice, hoping Harry hadn't seen his reaction. "This place is huge. It's going to take months to search it all-maybe years."

"But you _have_ a connection to the Mirror," Harry pushed. "You need to use it."

"I'm trying," Jace ground out. "It's not like I can just put my hand on something and tell if the Angel touched it. It's a feeling, not a superpower."

Harry frowned, thinking of the connection he had to Voldemort. "You just need to figure out how it works."

"If you're so smart, you do it."

"Hey, guys!"

"It's not my power," Harry replied sharply. "You're the angel boy."

"You're the Chosen One."

"Oi, guys!"

"That doesn't mean anything-"

"_Guys_." Ron had appeared around the corner of a pile of discarded shoes and broomsticks. "I think there's something you need to see."

Jace and Harry met each other's eyes and then hurried toward the sound of the voice. It seemed Ron had gone on a long way through the room, and Jace quickly overtook Harry and ran on. He came to the end of the of a particular path, listening to the sound of Ron calling them out, and skidded to a halt before what seemed to be the most impossible thing yet.

It was what appeared to be the crumbled ruins of an ancient building's façade. It was white stone, worn by age, and carved with intricate patterns, supported by four enormous pillars. There was the remnants of mighty doors made of the same stone, but they hung on their hinges crookedly, looking sad and broken. The mantle held up small carved pillars and a procession of what seemed to be soldiers with wings marching toward a faraway place, bathed in the light of a great sun. Along the ground was what was obviously a scene from hell: demons of shapes and sizes, making awful faces while people crawled desperately toward the light from above. It was beautiful, but as Jace's eyes wandered away from the two scenes, he saw the rest of the wall and doors. They were blackened in places, like they had been burned by something more than fire, gaping holes punched through the stone, and one of the pillars had fallen and was lying on its side. It was a sad thing and it made him feel empty to look at it, like a part of him was crumbling with the stones.

"What is this?" Harry asked, coming up beside Jace. "It's just…a wall?"

"An entrance," said Jace, placing his hand on the nearest pillar. It was cold and desolate. "It looks familiar."

"You've seen this?" Harry pressed, stepping closer and looking up at the towering structure. "Is it in New York?"

"No," Jace said softly. "I've haven't seen it, but it's familiar."

Harry looked around. "Where's Ron?"

Jace couldn't tear his eyes away from the entrance, the ruined stone, the carvings, the faces of the winged soldiers. "Where have I seen this?"

"Ron!" Harry called. "Ron, come out!" He jabbed his wand in the air, sending out a red burst. In the distance, the sound of the girls' footsteps came pounding toward them. "Where the bloody hell is he?" Harry began poking around the nearest pile. "Ron!"

"What the hell?" Clary had arrived on the scene and was staring at the building. She saw Jace, running his finger over a carved figure and joined him. "How did this get here?"

"It was lost," said Jace gently.

"You can't just _lose a building_," Clary observed. When Jace didn't answer, Clary pushed on the door to see if it would budge. Harry and Hermione came up to their side.

"It's glorious," said Hermione, walking up and down the structure. "It looks like a ruin from Ancient Rome."

"It's a ruin from _something_," said Harry. "Not sure it's Rome. Look at this."

The others joined Harry who was pointing at the image engraved upon the broken doors. It appeared to be a man, holding a great, flaming sword that who stood upon a hill, looking down vengefully upon a pools of demons. Above the man's head, just under the mantle were words in a different language.

Jace stared at them a long time. "It's in Latin."

"You can read Latin?" Hermione asked curiously.

"Some of it. This is a strange variation." Jace looked at it a little longer. "Those runes, though, they are shadowhunters'."

"Do you think it's from Idris?" Clary asked. "It looks like it's been through a war and we know Valentine recently attacked the city?"

"Too old. Look at the damage." Jace brushed his fingers against a brick and some of it fell away. "This is old, older than the buildings in Alicante now."

"Then where is it from?" Clary wondered. "What was before Alicante?"

Jace met her gaze evenly. "Jonathan Shadowhunter."

"Do you suppose this might be remnants of his home?" Hermione asked keenly. "Before he founded Alicante?"

"I wouldn't be surprised," said Jace slowly. "It would certainly be lost by now."

"He was attacked by demons here then," said Clary, "and had to build a new home?"

"No one knows for certain when Alicante was built, but this might have been the event that triggered the move." Jace stared at the doors, marveling in the history of his people. "Imagine what this place has seen."

"You won't even begin to imagine what I've seen," said a voice. They turned to find Ron struggling through a hole a ways down the wall. He was covered in a good bit of dust. "You believe what's back here."

They all hurried to follow Ron through the hole and emerged into what seemed to be a great library, filled to the bursting with objects, books, statues and weapons. There appeared to be a thick layer of dust on everything, suggesting that none of the objects had been touched in ages, and the runes of shadowhunters covered it all.

"Shadowhunter history," said Hermione, approaching a shelf. "Years and years of shadowhunter history that was lost. Think of it all…"

"This shouldn't be here," said Jace abruptly. "This is _our _past, these are _our _secrets."

"You must not have cared for them then," said Harry indifferently. "All lost things come here."

Clary padded up to a shelf that was filled with books in different languages. She opened one with a red, leather cover and saw pages and pages of demons drawn by hand. Though she couldn't read the writing, it appeared as if notes had been given, arrows pointing to different parts of the demons, suggesting where to attack. Another book, small and black, had a drawing of a strangely beautiful woman with skin like snow, hair as dark as ink, but awful eyes that bulged from her face. There were pages and pages of runes-not the shadowhunter kind-and a drawing of a circle. She placed the book quickly back on the shelf, feeling a chill race up her spine. As she continued down the shelf, she saw a familiar looking book; carefully she removed it from the shelf and it fell open in her hand.

"It's the Book of the Grey," said Clary in surprise. It looked old, however, very old, and here and there, someone had scribbled notes on it in a smooth, loopy hand. On the front cover was an inscription, and though she couldn't read the words, the date was from the 11th century. "Jace! Jace look at this!"

Jace, however, was on the opposite side of the room, studying at the array of weapons. He was staring at something he had never seen before: an iron rod with a circular, metal blade, embedded with a red stone. Carefully, Jace picked it up and held it in his hands; it was light, but felt sturdy. He spun it around just as Clary hurried over.

"What is that?" she asked, watching Jace spin it.

"No idea," he said. "There's no name, no engraving, no notes. It was just sitting here on this table. I've never seen anything like it."

The longer Clary looked at it, the longer she felt like it was wrong. She couldn't say why, but the thing seemed out of place. She shook herself and showed him the book. "Look at this. It's the Book of the Grey, but it's from the 11th century."

Jace placed the rod down at once and plucked the book carefully from her hands. "David, Jonathan Shadowhunter's _parabati_ was the first Silent Brother, and he was alive during the 11th century."

"You think it could be his?"

"If not, then one of the very first Silent Brothers."

Clary gestured to the book. "How could this have gotten here?"

"Maybe when Jonathan's home fell, the book was lost with it." Jace ran his hand over the inscription. "I'm sure the silent brother are dying to get their hands on this."

Farther down the room, Hermione was picking over old maps, Ron marveling at some of the weapons, and Harry perusing the collections of odds and ends. He paused before a strange glass sphere that seemed to contain a bit of fire. It almost reminded him of a Remembral, but there was something strange about it. As he held it, the fire shimmered and flickered and warmed his hand, but didn't grow.

"Hey, Jace, Clary, come look at this." They hurried over but stared in shock at the object in his hand. Harry handed it to Jace saying, "You know what this is?"

The moment Jace took the sphere in his palm, the fire blazed up, filling the bulb and burning gold and red. Clary gasped at it danced, and noticed that Jace's eyes seemed to glow even more gold as he held it. It was beautiful and powerful at the same time, almost dangerous.

"What is it?" Clary asked.

"Not the slightest clue," said Jace, offering it to her. In Clary's hand, the fire continued to dance and blaze, and she felt an almost painful warmth in her hands. "It's fire, but there's something about it…it feels different."

Clary placed it back on the shelf. "I don't think it should just be sitting here like this."

"Agreed," said Harry, as the golden flames died back down. "Some of the stuff here…it could be pretty dangerous in the wrong hands."

"I could be dangerous in the right hands," Jace mused, thinking of the spear. "And yet, no Mirror."

"Maybe one of the books can tell us where it is," Clary said, holding up the Book of the Grey. "If David really did write this, maybe it tells us where Jonathan put the Mirror."

Hermione and Ron had joined them as well, Hermione with a map. "I was looking at an old map of Idris, one from the original founding, but I didn't see anything about it."

"And I didn't see any mirrors," Ron said blankly.

Clary felt her heart deflating. "But it has to be here somewhere! It's lost."

"Maybe there was wards around it that prevent it from being moved?" Hermione suggested.

"Or maybe it's too big to be moved?" Ron guessed.

Harry turned away, frustrated. He had thought his plan was going to work. Despondently, he took a few steps away from the group, looking over the piles of random objects and wandered down another hall. This hall, however, ended at a wall, and, as he looked up, he saw a huge image painted across the stone. Without looking away, he called the others over.

"That's stunning," said Hermione, admiring the picture splayed across the wall. "I've seen it before, haven't I?"

"We all have," said Jace simply. "This is the iconic image of the Angel Raziel rising out of Lyn Lake with the Mortal Instruments. This image is in every Institute on the planet."

"Then why haven't you found the Mirror?" Ron asked. "Where is it?"

"Exactly," said Jace. "The Cup and Sword are in the Angel's hands, but where's the Mirror?" Jace spread his arms wide, gesturing at the picture. "Shadowhunters have studied this image for ages and no one knows."

Hermione peered closer at it. "It doesn't make sense. It must be there. I mean, why else would this image be here if the Mirror wasn't in it?"

Jace and Clary looked to her. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Hermione said, stepping back to admire the painting, "that the Mirror is lost, and so, naturally, it should be here. Since it's not, this picture is. The Mirror is in the picture somewhere."

"Good luck finding it," Jace said, shrugging. "You and everyone else have been for the last thousand years."

Hermione said nothing, but continued to stare at the Angel, thinking.


End file.
